Love is Blindness
by Team Damon
Summary: Born during a brutal Brooklyn winter, James Buchanan Barnes became many things to many people during the first 30 years of his life - son, brother, friend, partner, lover, judge , jury, and executioner. But just how was a sweet, innocent little boy molded into an unstoppable weapon who would one day be crowned Captain of the American Bratva? The full story, from the beginning.


**A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and happy holidays to alllll of you amazing, wonderful, beautiful readers out there :D as I promised, I have a gift for you guys - an enormous novel-length oneshot to at last answer just about all the questions regarding Bucky and how he became who he currently is in _Till Death Do Us Part_. A few notes first before we dive in :D **

**First, this thing has been written and finished for over a year now, I wrote it while I was still writing _Life After Death_ , in between chapters, and MAN HAVE I BEEN DYING TO SHARE IT WITH YOU GUYS. Usually I'm hideously self-critical and can barely stand to reread anything I write, but I am immensely proud of this and I hope SO MUCH that you guys will like it too :D **

**SECOND, this whole oneshot (and TDDUP, honestly) is dedicated to midnightwings96, without whom I would be lost adrift in a sea of mediocre and unfinished terrible fics. She came up with the entire Bratva/arranged marriage premise and we literally spent hours upon hours discussing every detail imaginable long before I started writing any of it, and the entire journey has been so fun and rewarding and I owe her far more than i'l ever be able to repay, so let me just say that SHE IS DA BOMB, THE BEST, and UTTERLY MAGNIFICENT. That will have to suffice, I suppose :D**

 **Anyway, I hope you guys all have a wonderful holiday season, and I hope some of you like my little offering :D I look forward to hearing from you guys, and I'll see you all back over at TDDUP next week! :D**

Early in the morning on March 20, 1983, during a late-season snowstorm that raged through the city of New York and brought it to a standstill, a Brooklyn woman squeezed the hand of her husband as she tried to breathe through the pain gripping her entire body. Lying on the floor of their small living room within an apartment that was completely snowed in, she prayed for the pain to end and for a miracle to stop her labor. Their son wasn't due for another month, and she couldn't give birth to him like this - snowed in and unassisted, with only her bewildered and panicked husband there to help her through it.

They called 911 when the pain didn't subside and her labor only grew stronger. The fire department came, but there was simply no way in or out of the building. As a result, paramedics stayed on the phone with her husband and told him what to do to safely deliver the baby when the time came.

The woman was hysterical. This was _not_ how this was supposed to go, and the baby wasn't ready yet. She wasn't ready yet either. But as the young couple came to discover, life had a tendency to make its own plans and it rarely took into account the readiness of _anyone_.

Their son was born after nightfall had come, screaming and rather big for his 36-week gestation, brown hair like his father and blue eyes like his mother and even more beautiful than his parents had hoped for. He was healthy and pink and perfect, and it wasn't long after his birth that the medics finally found a way inside of the building.

With the baby wrapped in a towel and the couple riding down snowy roads in the back of an ambulance, the woman held him close to her chest and smiled down lovingly on him as she said, "What do you look like, hm? What are you? Are you a George, like your daddy?"

Sitting at her side and holding her hand, her husband scoffed. "He's definitely not a George."

Sighing, the woman muttered, "You would have been Rebecca if you had been a girl. Maybe Robert? Ronald?"

"Everyone would think we named after Reagan," George chuckled, referencing the current President.

"Oh, that would have made your Grandpa very unhappy," she grinned, stroking the baby's cheek. "He would haunt me from the grave for naming you after a Republican."

George grinned, then paused as his expression grew more serious. "What about James? After your dad?"

She considered that, tilting her head and cooing, "What do you think? Think you're a James?" Then she glanced at her husband and asked, "James what?"

George paused, thinking. He had no father of his own to name a son after, only a mother who had raised him all on her own after her husband abandoned them when George was only a toddler. But there was a way to honor her, too.

"My mom's maiden name," he said quietly.

"Buchanan?" she mused. "James Buchanan Barnes? Hmm... yeah. I think I like it."

"Yeah? Me too," he smiled. "I think it's perfect." Then he suddenly paused and realized out loud, "We'll have to make sure and explain to him that we named him after our parents and _not_ the worst President in American history."

His wife laughed. "At least James Buchanan was a Democrat."

George laughed with her now that their son had a name and they were nearly to the hospital. Everything was going to be okay, despite the chaotic and panic-driven birth. They had made it.

"I love you, Freddie," he told her quietly, smiling as he kissed her temple.

Freddie - or Winifred, as her own mother had named her, to her chagrin - smiled back and said, "I love you too." They then gazed at their son together, asleep and safe in her arms, both of them hoping that nothing but happiness and joy awaited him in his brand new life.

And that was all any two parents could do, hope for the best and _do_ their best. And they did, but just as had been the case with little James' birth, life had a tendency to make its own plans. And sometimes those plans could be nothing short of brutal.

* * *

James grew up seemingly in the blink of an eye, a little baby struggling to crawl one moment and then a tall boy getting ready for his first day of kindergarten the next. He was a smart and kind and loyal child, but with a stubborn nature that kept Freddie on her toes and George's mother calling him a "little firecracker". He was the apple of the elderly woman's eye, and she had even given him a nickname as a baby that had stuck like glue - Bucky, which she claimed suited him just perfectly. At first Freddie had objected, but soon she was calling him by that name just like everyone else.

Freddie sent her sweet little _Bucky_ off to his first day of school with a big hug, one that was difficult to maneuver thanks to her big, swollen belly being in the way, but she was used to it at that point. Bucky's little sister Rebecca would be coming any day, and since it was at the end of summer and the start of autumn, she didn't have to worry about a massive snowstorm coming and derailing her delivery plans.

Freddie, a teacher at the local middle school, went to work while Bucky excitedly tackled his first day of kindergarten. He was not a shy child or a very fearful one, and he had been looking forward to that day for almost a whole year. He planned on making friends and having fun, never mind all that learning stuff that he wasn't too sure about. But how hard could it be?

It wasn't that hard, as he came to find out, and that made him very happy. Recess made him even happier, however, and it was during his time out on the playground on that very first day of kindergarten that he would meet a very key person in his life.

Every schoolyard needed a bully, and in this case, the front runner for the title was a boy named Billy. Billy was the tallest kid in class, dark haired, freckled, and spoiled to death. He wanted to get on a swing that little Daisy Walker was sitting on, so he pushed her off of it and then laughed when she started crying. But he didn't stop there - no, he made sure and hit her with his feet mid-swing once she'd finally gotten up, still laughing even while she fell over crying once again.

Bucky was about to get up and go push _Billy_ off the swing to give him a taste of his own medicine when someone beat him to it. A little toothpick of a boy with blonde bangs in his eyes who was about half the size of Daisy rushed to the little girl's aid, standing between her and the bully. He yelled something at Billy, Bucky wasn't sure what, but whatever it was, it made Billy jump off the swing and put on his best face of intimidation as he stared the other boy down.

And somehow, the much smaller boy didn't move. He didn't even blink. He acted like they were perfectly matched and that he had nothing to worry about.

Bucky was aghast. The kid was an _idiot_.

Billy punched the boy in the face. He also then immediately ran away like a coward once one of the adults caught wind of what was going on and came stomping out to put a stop to it.

Bucky was the first to help the boy, running to him and looking down at where he laid on the ground. His nose was bloody and he looked half-delirious, so Bucky held out his hand to help him up and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," the boy insisted, standing up with Bucky's help and wobbling slightly like he was dizzy. "Barely hit me."

Bucky couldn't help but laugh. What even _was_ this kid? "Why'd you _do_ that?"

"Because he's a bully," the boy answered simply. "I hate bullies."

Bucky couldn't argue that. He didn't like bullies either. "What's your name?"

"Steve," the kid replied as one of the teachers finally got to them and gasped at the blood on his face.

"I'm Bucky," he replied as the teacher began trying to lead Steve back to the nurse's office. "Wanna be friends?"

"Sure," Steve called back before he had to turn around and keep walking, back into the school.

Neither boy could have known how very instrumental and irreplaceable the other would be for years to come, but in time, they would find out.

* * *

Over the the next month, Bucky and Steve became inseparable at both school and home, and on Freddie's exact due date, Rebecca was born. Almost immediately, she and George realized that she was not at all like her brother. She was smaller than he had been and her first month of life was spent at the hospital recovering from pneumonia that she had been diagnosed with only a few hours after her birth. From the very start, everything was more difficult with her, but she was a fighter.

When they were finally able to bring her home, she spent much of her nights crying and keeping everybody awake. Freddie didn't understand what she was doing wrong, because Bucky had never been like that. He had always slept well and only cried when he'd had a reason to, but Rebecca would cry and cry until she exhausted herself into a few hours of sleep. Then she would wake and start all over again.

At first, Bucky couldn't stand her. She was noisy and annoying and his parents changed the day they brought her home. They were stressed and worried and they argued like they never had before, and it worried _him_. He didn't understand any of it, so he coped by hanging out with Steve and going to his house often after school.

Steve's house was an apartment half the size of Bucky's. His mother Sarah Rogers was a kind and loving but exhausted woman who worked long shifts at the hospital as a nurse to keep them afloat while his father, Joseph Rogers, sat in his chair and drank. It was all Bucky ever saw him do.

Sarah fixed them cookies when she was home and never had an unkind word to say about anyone, not even Joe when he'd drunkenly ask Steve why he couldn't be more like his friend. Joe saw everything in Bucky that he wished his own son would be - taller, stronger, a boy who would "be a man" someday, whatever that meant. Bucky couldn't believe that he'd say something like that when it clearly hurt poor Steve's feelings, so one time, he spoke up and challenged the man and pointed out how wrong it was for him to talk like that.

And when Joe became so flabbergasted and angry that his face turned an ugly red and he dragged himself out of his chair for once, Steve stupidly placed himself between his father and his best friend, prepared to take whatever was coming. But Sarah quickly took them both and hustled them outside, despite their protests, and she told them it would be fine and that she'd take care of Joe. Bucky didn't know what that meant, but Steve did and he ended up crying for fifteen minutes as they sat on the building's doorstep.

Steve made Bucky promise not to tell anyone about his dad or his drinking or his violent nature. It nearly killed Bucky to keep his mouth shut, but he did. And later, when he saw a bruise on Sarah's cheek partially hidden by a thick layer of makeup, it dawned on Bucky how very bad their situation truly was.

But he kept his mouth shut. He got his first taste of true cruelty at the hands of Steve's father, but it was far from his last.

* * *

Rebecca was always sick, even more than Steve with his asthma and other chronic issues. She was also delayed developmentally, and by a year old, she was only just then learning how to crawl. She was on a truckload of daily medications, none of which Bucky was sure of the purpose of, but through it all, he grew to adore her.

She was beautiful and incredibly sweet. She loved her brother and she lit up every time he walked into the room, even when she was sick and could barely keep her eyes open. He became extremely protective of her and would stay up with Freddie to take care of her during the hard nights, always managing to get a smile and a giggle out of Rebecca even at her worst.

George, however, became more distant. He worked as a pharmacist and between his and Freddie's modest dual incomes, they were drowning in debt. They were trying to support his aging mother and keep her afloat while paying their own regular bills and Rebecca's medical expenses, and it was just too much. They weren't going to make it much longer, and they both knew it. Something had to be done, or else they would lose their apartment and Rebecca would lose her medical care and become even sicker.

It was around the time that George began to retreat into himself a bit that something changed one day. Rather than hearing his parents argue all the time, an almost eerie silence fell between them and the fights simply stopped. Rebecca was suddenly able to go see a better doctor, one who worked in Manhattan at the children's hospital there, and the dinners that Bucky ate got bigger and better. Freddie bought him new clothes too, all of them new and not a single thing secondhand. He didn't understand, but he also didn't ask, because the changes were good.

But Freddie seemed constantly worried and even scared, and George was always gone. He came home very late at night, much later than when the pharmacy closed, but still, Bucky didn't ask. He just wanted everything to be okay again.

And for awhile, things did seem better. Rebecca learned to walk and talk, and she called her brother "Buck-Buck". It was the greatest thing he'd ever heard, and rather than go to Steve's place, it was always Steve who came over to his, and the three children became a tight knit little group.

Steve stayed the night often, and Bucky got the feeling that Freddie knew all about the situation with Joe. She took care of Steve like a second mother and even bought him clothes and medicine with the money that she explained was part of George's "bonus" at work.

For a solid six months, everything was good. Steve was like the brother Bucky never had and Rebecca was thriving. Things were still weird with Bucky's parents, but grown ups were weird like that. He tried not to think about it.

Then, just when everything was finally good, it all very suddenly went to hell, and that time, it didn't get better.

* * *

Rebecca, constantly endangered by a weak immune system, contracted bacterial meningitis a few months before her second birthday. It came on suddenly and lasted for three days.

On the first day, it seemed like the flu - difficult, especially for a child like her, but manageable. Freddie took her to the doctor and got her some new medicine, then took her home to rest. But on the second day, Rebecca woke up with a soaring fever and couldn't move her neck. Freddie rushed her to the hospital with both Bucky and Steve in tow, and that was when they were told by a very serious man in scrubs and a surgical cap that she had meningitis.

By the third day, she was dead.

Bucky had never heard his mother scream before, until that same man in scrubs and a surgical cap told her that they had tried, they really had, but Rebecca's body had simply been too weak to fight such a strong disease. The sound of Freddie's agonized cries echoed down the hospital halls, and Bucky felt his entire seven year old mind and body go completely numb.

It didn't make sense. The man had to be wrong. Rebecca couldn't be dead. She was getting bigger and growing and not getting sick as much. She was talking. She called Steve "Teeb" and her favorite food was ice cream. She loved the color green and Bugs Bunny was her absolute favorite cartoon.

She was his sister. Sisters weren't supposed to die. She _couldn't_ die.

At his side, Steve was equally shocked, but he wasn't numb. He knew enough of life and how bad it could be that these things sometimes happened, even at his young age. It wasn't impossible. It was, in fact, just possible enough to be true.

He hugged Bucky and started crying. Bucky merely stood there, not shedding a tear or moving a muscle. He simply watched as his mother fell apart, her heart ripped out and lying on the floor and as dead as the child that she'd now have to bury.

After that, everything changed.

The funeral came and went, and Bucky still didn't cry. George lost what little of himself he still possessed and turned to drinking to ease the unbearable pain of Rebecca's death. Freddie took a break from working and became a shell of herself, sleeping through most of the day and crying when she was awake. Sarah came over to check on them often, bringing food and anything else she could spare, and Steve was a constant presence at Bucky's side.

None of it felt real. It was like a long, surreal, horrific dream that he couldn't wake up from. He didn't understand why he couldn't cry like everyone else. Even at the funeral, seeing Rebecca's pale, sweet little face lying in her tiny coffin only made him feel icier inside. The only thing that he felt was anger. And he felt it _deeply_.

He got into fights at school, sometimes just for the hell of it and sometimes to defend Steve from whatever bully had decided to try to beat up the skinny artsy kid that day. He always won the fights, but he was on the verge of getting expelled. He didn't care. What was the point?

Steve didn't know what to do. He was only a child, so how could he? Freddie and George didn't even know how to cope with their own grief, let alone teach their son how to deal with his and channel it in a healthier manner. Sarah tried to help, though, and she was more successful in her efforts than anyone else. She spoke to Bucky like an equal and not like a lost child, and she told him that one day what happened would hit him all at once, and he would feel a kind of pain like he'd never felt before. And she told him that she'd be there for him when that happened.

It was a promise that she kept, though not before everything took yet another turn, because when life brought pain, it apparently brought it in threes.

* * *

Bucky stopped getting into fights. He also stopped putting any effort into his schoolwork and went from a model student to a C average. His teachers understood and gave him time to adjust and recover from his loss.

Freddie went back to work. George was always gone. Their home changed from an imperfect but mostly happy one to a mere shadow of what it had once been. Bucky hated it there, sometimes thinking that he could hear his sister's voice or cries when he really couldn't. He had never believed in ghosts but she was haunting him, and he wished that if she _had_ to go, that she'd just _go_ and stay gone.

But she was there, always in the back of his mind and always in his dreams. They were sick dreams, ones that were filled with the image of her sickly pale little face at her funeral and Freddie's screams. They wouldn't stop, and he could hardly sleep most nights.

It was during one of those awful dreams that he woke suddenly one night, sitting up in his bed and breathing hard. He put his head in his hands, nearly weeping from how badly he wanted the dreams and the image in his head of his sister gone, but he didn't let himself cry. It was better to feel nothing, or so he thought.

But downstairs, his parents were still awake. He could hear their voices and at first he thought that they were arguing, but then he heard a third voice. It was cool and even and foreign accented, and he had no idea who it belonged to. He quietly got up, tiptoeing across the floor on his bare feet, then opened his door just a crack and listened.

George's voice was wobbly. "It's not what you think. I swear it isn't, I haven't said a word to anyone and I'm not -"

The accented voice was clear and serious. "I did not come here to listen to you beg."

Freddie was crying. So was George.

"Just take me," George said, desperate. "Take me and leave my family alone, _please_. It was all me, never her, she never even knew -"

"Then you must feel very guilty, indeed."

Then _bam_ , one gunshot and the sound of George's body hitting the floor. Freddie screamed, then used her last breath to yell up towards the ceiling for Bucky to run, and then there was a second gunshot and the sound of her body crumpling next to George's.

Bucky didn't let his mother's last words go to waste. He ran.

Terrified, horrified, shaking in his very bones with fear and disbelief and _rage_ at what he'd just listened to, he made for his window, wrestled it open, and jumped into a bush down below. It hurt but he didn't feel it, adrenaline and shock protecting him as he got up and then raced away. He didn't realize where he was going at first or where his legs automatically took him until he was a number of blocks over and racing up the stairs to Steve's apartment, locating the extra key that Sarah kept hidden under a pot and then taking refuge inside.

Sarah was the only one awake, wearing scrubs and eating a very late dinner in the kitchen after having gotten off of a 12 hour shift. She turned and watched with wide eyes as he ran inside and ran straight to her, his eyes streaming with tears and face red with exertion and words indecipherable as she caught him with her arms and tried to understand what was happening.

"Bucky," she knelt down to his level, wiping the tears from his face and holding him steady, "what happened? Tell me what happened, breathe slowly and use your words."

He tried to do as she said, but all he ended up being able to blubber out was a rushed string of barely coherent words. "I woke up and I heard... I heard my mom and dad, I thought they were fighting but they weren't and I heard someone else, I don't know who, and my dad was crying and so was my mom and he..." Bucky sucked in a shaky breath over a son and blurted out, "he shot them and they're dead and I heard it and he was gonna get me next and -"

He couldn't speak anymore. Sarah's eyes grew wide with horror and she pulled him close, hugging him tight as he sobbed hysterically. It was right then in that moment that _all_ of it hit him - Rebecca, his parents, all of it. They were gone and he'd never see them again. His family, his life, his world - it was all gone and never coming back.

The sound of his crying awoke Steve, who came padding out into the kitchen with sleepy, confused eyes. He then took one look at his mother sitting on the floor, holding his hysterical best friend and crying herself, and somehow, he just _knew_. He didn't know how, but he knew.

Sarah called the police, and one car came to her apartment while the others went to Bucky's. The cops questioned her and gently questioned Bucky as well, even having a paramedic check him for shock and treat the cuts he'd gotten from jumping out of his window. He was still crying, the tears a constant stream down his face that he couldn't help, and the only helpful description that he could provide for the gunman was that his voice had what he _thought_ was a Japanese accent. The cops then refined their search to be for an Asian suspect, and they sustained a detail outside of Sarah's apartment for protection.

Steve and Sarah stayed up with Bucky all night, until he passed out from exhaustion after the sun had come up.

He was an orphan now, a brother without a sister and a boy without a home. His entire world was in ruins, and he was not yet even eight years old.

He learned that night that life was cruel, unforgiving, and above all, merciless. It was a lesson that would shape his future for years to come, and he wouldn't forget it.

* * *

The next day, a man showed up at Sarah's door. He was not a cop or a detective, or anyone Bucky had seen before. He was tall and blonde and wearing a nice suit, and he kind of resembled what Bucky thought Steve would look like one day, if he could ever manage to put on some weight. And he wanted to talk to Bucky.

Sarah first tried to refuse him and told him that Bucky had been through too much and needed to be left alone, but the man talked his way inside. He wasn't unkind or pushy, however, and Sarah eventually relented. She told Bucky that she'd be just in the kitchen, right there if she needed him, and then he looked up at the man standing before him in the living room.

"Hello," the man smiled, reaching out his hand. "I'm Alexander Pierce. I'm a friend of your father's."

Bucky tentatively reached out and let the man shake his much smaller hand. "Hi."

"I just want to ask you a few questions. If you don't want to, I won't make you. But I'm trying to help find the people who did this, and I think you can help me. So, what do you say we have a seat and just talk for a few minutes?"

Bucky didn't hesitate to nod and follow the man to Sarah's couch. Once they sat down, he quietly asked, "Are you a cop?"

"No," Pierce shook his head. "I'm not a cop."

"Then how can you catch the guy who..." Bucky paused, looked down and then asked, "How do you know my dad?"

"Through work," Pierce replied. He then thought for a moment of how to explain a very complex thing to a child as young as Bucky, and he added, "The people who killed your parents... they're the bad guys. But me, I'm one of the good guys. Your dad was also a good guy. He was helping us with some very important things, and the bad guys found out."

"And that's why they killed them?" Bucky asked quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. "But... my dad just worked in a drugstore."

"Yes," Pierce nodded. "Yes he did."

"Why would bad guys care about a drugstore? You said you worked with him, right?"

Pierce eyed the boy in slight surprise, perhaps impressed by his inquisitive nature or how he clearly didn't accept things at face value. "Well, Bucky... it's complicated."

"How do you know my name?"

"Your father told me all about you," Pierce replied. "He was very proud of you. He loved you and your sister very much. The work that we did together, he did it for the two of you."

Bucky's eyes grew a little wide and incredibly sad. "So it was my fault that the bad guys were after him?"

" _No_ ," Pierce assured him, reaching out and comfortingly touching his shoulder. "Not at all. None of this is your fault, Bucky, believe me."

Bucky nodded, trying to believe him. "So what I can do? How can I help?"

"Well," Pierce began, "you can start by telling me about what you heard. When it happened... where were you?"

Bucky then recounted the whole story in full detail. He gave Pierce the same description that he gave the cops, able to only tell him about the man's voice and what it had sounded like, but somehow that seemed to be just what Pierce needed to know.

"Okay," he nodded, straightening up a little on the couch. He glanced at Sarah, still in the kitchen and watching them carefully, and then he looked back to Bucky and said, "Thank you for talking to me. This could help a lot."

When Pierce then made to get up, Bucky furrowed his brows and blurted, "That's it? But... I wanted to help. Can't I help? Can't I... do something?"

Pierce again looked a little surprised. "Look, I know how hard this must be for you, I really do, but... the best thing that you can do is go back to school and just... keep living. That's what your mom and dad would want. How old are you?"

"Nine," Bucky lied. Pierce gave him a look, and he muttered, "Seven, but I'll be eight soon and I'm real smart. I just... I want to _do_ something."

"Because you're angry?" Pierce guessed. Bucky nodded.

Pierce then paused and looked around, subtly taking note of the tiny apartment around them and the conditions of it. The whole building was run down, in a rough part of an already rough Brooklyn, and judging by the state of the place... the nice lady that Bucky was staying with couldn't truly care for him or provide for him. He didn't doubt how much she cared, but realistically, she wasn't equipped to take in another child.

He looked back at Bucky, this very young and very damaged child who didn't want to lay around moping and crying but who rather wanted to _do_ something. He wanted justice, and he wanted to help bring it about. He was too young to fully grasp the reality of the situation or even the extent of his own grief, but yet here he was, displaying a bravery and a strength that Pierce rarely saw in even grown men. He could grow up to really be someone, he thought.

"You know what," he said quietly, for only the two of them to hear, "let me make a few calls. I'll come back in a few days, and we can see about what we can do, okay?"

Bucky nodded. "Okay."

Pierce smiled and grasped his shoulder again. "Hang in there, kid."

Bucky then watched as Pierce thanked Sarah for her accommodation, and then he left, leaving Bucky confused but looking forward to their next meeting.

The next day, George and Freddie's' funerals were held. Sarah took Steve and Bucky there, picking up Bucky's devastated grandmother on the way. The funeral was closed-casket, which was a great relief to Bucky.

This time, Bucky cried. Sarah did as well, and Steve didn't stop crying himself until long after they had returned home.

A few days later, Bucky saw Alexander Pierce again. This time, he showed up with a piece of paper that he showed to Sarah, who immediately began fiercely arguing with him as soon as she realized what it was for. Bucky didn't understand what they were talking about, the words "custody" and "guardianship" and "best interests" all going over his head. He also didn't understand why Sarah was crying and begging Pierce to reconsider. But he didn't.

And in the end, when Pierce finally turned his attention to Bucky and knelt in front of him, he asked him with a friendly, small smile on his face, "How would you like to come stay with me for awhile?"

* * *

The thing was, Bucky didn't really want to leave Sarah's home. She and Steve were his second family - and his first one now that his real one was gone - and the thought of leaving and going somewhere else was terrifying, especially when he didn't really _know_ Alexander Pierce.

But as he soon found out, he wasn't exactly being given a choice in the matter. The man was now his guardian, and that meant that he was acting like a parent to Bucky. That's how he and Sarah both explained it to him. So then naturally Bucky asked if he could bring Steve and Sarah with them (Joe was not invited). For some reason, Sarah got teary eyed at that question and Pierce looked regretful before he explained that no, Bucky could not bring them with him and that he had to come alone. He was assured, however, that he could come and visit whenever he wanted, and that they could visit too.

Then Bucky asked when he would be leaving, and Pierce shocked him by saying that his things had already been moved to his new home, and that he would be leaving right then. It left him woefully unprepared and unbearably sad to tell his best friend and his sweet, caring mother goodbye so soon. It hadn't even been a full week since his parents had died.

Sarah cried as she hugged him goodbye, reminding him that he always had a home with her if he needed it. Then Steve hugged him and managed to hold his own tears back, telling him that he'd see him in school and to tell him all about his new house later. Bucky felt that odd sense of numb coming back, the one that he had felt over his sister for so long, and now it was re-emerging like a protective shell to guard him from the fear and sadness he felt at having to go and live with a stranger when he _really_ didn't want to.

But life, as he was learning ever more frequently, was not about getting what you wanted. He knew this far too well for someone of only seven years, but life also had a way of aging someone in a way that mere years could not.

His new home, he later discovered, was not a house. It was a mansion, or as Pierce called it, a manor. It was enormous, reminding Bucky of a castle from a fairy tale, and he was dazzled from the moment the manor came into view.

"You'll have your own room," Pierce told him, grinning at the way that Bucky gaped through the car window. "Two rooms, actually. Snacks and food whenever you're hungry. Cooks you can ask to make whatever you want. The grounds to run around and play in. There's a few kids who live there, too. They'll be happy to make a new friend."

"You're rich," Bucky said, stating the obvious of what he'd just realized. It was a shock. Did this mean that he was rich now too?

"I am very fortunate," Pierce gently corrected him. "And now, so are you."

"Why are you doing all this for me? You don't even know me," Bucky asked, his tone not at all ungrateful but rather simply confused.

Pierce looked at him then, pausing before replying, "Well, you remind me of myself when I was your age. I know what it's like to lose everything and feel like the world's going to end. But it's not. Your life is just beginning, and if you work hard, you can have anything you want."

"But I want my mom and dad back," Bucky replied innocently. "And my sister. _That's_ what I want."

Pierce looked at him with sympathy and understanding, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I know. I lost my family too. My wife and my daughter. But with time... it will get easier. I promise you that."

Bucky didn't believe him, but he still hoped that he was right. The car parked just in front of the sprawling mansion, just beyond an elaborately carved marble fountain that sat in the middle of the circular driveway. Bucky got out of the car, looking with wide eyes at the perfectly manicured hedges and grass lining the concrete, the fountain, and then up at the building itself. The first thing that struck him was how many windows there were - almost innumerable. How many rooms were in the place? He wondered where his was and what it would look like, and if he even had enough stuff to fill it up.

"This is your home now," Pierce told him as he led him inside. "I think you're gonna like it."

As soon as they walked through the huge doors and stepped inside, Bucky had the feeling that he would, too.

Somehow the place seemed even bigger on the inside than on the outside. Pierce took him on a tour of the manor, showing him where the kitchens and dining area was, where the exit to the gardens was, which places he should avoid because others occupied those wings and valued their privacy (though they were lovely people who would welcome him, Bucky was assured), and finally, where his own rooms were.

At the top of a winding staircase that left his knees worn out from climbing was what Pierce described to him as _their_ area. It was the biggest and most grand looking one he'd seen yet, and Pierce first briefly showed him his own bedroom - which was enormous - and then his office, which he told Bucky to never enter without permission, since there was important things in there and it was no place for kids. Then, finally, Bucky got to see his room. Well, his _rooms_.

He had one room for sleeping in, which was slightly larger than his parent's entire apartment had been. A bathroom was connected to it as well as his second room, which Pierce told him he could use for anything - playing, collecting, reading, absolutely anything he wanted.

Bucky stood in dumbstruck awe of all of it. His belongings were dwarfed by the sheer size of the room and nothing served as a greater sign of how very out of place he really was.

But then his eyes were drawn to a picture sitting next to his bed on a little table. It was a picture of him, his parents, Rebecca, and Steve, during Steve's last birthday. It was the most recent picture that existed of all of them together, and therefore the last.

Bucky walked to the bed and sat down, picking up the frame and looking at the image sadly. Pierce came and sat down next to him, ever trying to help ease this very difficult transition.

"You're not gonna make me call you dad, are you?" Bucky asked, not taking his eyes off the picture.

" _Never_ ," Pierce assured him. "You don't ever have to worry about that. Nobody can replace your father. I understand that better than most."

Bucky looked up at him, all innocent blue eyes. "So what do I call you?"

"You can call me Alex. Or Mr. Pierce. Or sir. Anything you feel most comfortable with," was Pierce's answer.

Bucky nodded, deciding he'd figure that out later. He also decided that Pierce was a very nice man, and that he liked him after all.

One more question popped into his head. "When do I get to help you catch the bad guys?"

Pierce smiled. "One thing at a time, Bucky."

* * *

Pierce decided to let Bucky finish out the school year in Brooklyn, for the sake of stability and not overwhelming him with too much change at once, even though he personally viewed the elementary school as a hellhole. He'd decide whether to take him out or let him stay once some time had gone by and he had a better grip on the boy's state of mind.

Meanwhile, Bucky began to explore his new home. It was a daunting task, considering the sheer size of it, but he was intensely curious and it was the perfect distraction from his grief.

There was a butler who kept an eye on him when Pierce didn't, which was quite a lot - Pierce was always gone, "running a very large company" as he explained, and he was a very busy man. The butler was nice though, if not slightly annoyed that there was another child to look after now, but Bucky hadn't seen the other kids yet and therefore had no opinion on the matter. He _did_ have an opinion on the food and goodies that were always available in the kitchen, however - it was delicious and the best stuff he'd ever had. The cooks got quite the laugh out of his enthusiastic reactions to everything they offered him.

Then, on his second day there, he ventured out to the gardens that Pierce had told him about. He didn't care much for plants or flowers but going outside sounded nice, so he wandered out there and started looking around. The air smelled different there, not because of the flowers but because the manor was far enough removed from the city that the air smelled clean. He was used to the smell of exhaust, hot dogs and other food stands, and the other sometimes less pleasant smells that living in the inner city had to offer. But _this_... this was _something_.

He found a stick underneath a line of fruit trees - peach trees, he was happy to discover as he grabbed one and took a bite - and he used the stick to poke at the ground as he walked around leisurely, looking up at birds as they chirped and flew around happily. They were very colorful, blue and orange and bright yellow, and that was different too. Back home there were mostly black birds, crows sometimes, and little brown birds. And of _course_ a never ending supply of ugly pigeons that the other kids in the neighborhood would shoot for fun.

But he was far from home, and as much as he missed it, there was certainly something to be said for all of _this_. It was lonely though, and that was the main downside. He'd only been there two days, but he had never felt so alone before in his life.

He had finished the peach and was just about to turn around and head back inside when a rustling up ahead, behind a row of bushes, caught his attention. Then he heard what sounded like a child's laugh, and he started walking closer. Maybe it was the kids he'd heard about but hadn't yet seen?

It took a bit more of walking, but within a few more moments, he suddenly saw a flash of short black hair and a green jacket as a boy came running out from behind the bushes, cackling madly. Then there was a taller blonde boy in a red sweater on his heels, slightly longer hair flying behind his head as he roared, "I will catch you, Loki, you filthy traitor, and I will smash you with Myo-Myo!"

Bucky watched as the dark haired boy turned around mid-run and laughed, "You idiot, it's Mjolnir! Mee-yol-nir! How can you be worthy of it if you can't even say it right? Hand it over, Thor!"

"Never!" the other boy yelled back, and they both laughed as they turned and started running in Bucky's direction. As soon as they both looked up and saw him, they stopped in their tracks.

"... Hello," Bucky said a bit quietly, suddenly a little shy for the first time in his life. He blamed it on being in such a weird place and still feeling like he didn't belong one bit.

"Hello," the blonde boy replied. "Who are you?"

"That's the new boy that Mother told us about," the black haired boy told the other. He stepped forward first and said, "I'm Lukas. What's your name?"

"Bucky," he replied, to which the blonde boy began immediately chuckling.

" _Bucky_? Your name is Bucky? What kind of name is that?"

Lukas rolled his eyes. "Don't be _rude_. And you're one to talk about names, Arthur -"

"Thor," the blonde boy hurriedly interrupted. "Everybody calls me Thor, like the Norse god. And I apologize. Welcome to our home."

"Thank you," Bucky replied. Then he asked, "Where are you from? You sound different."

"Well, our family is originally from Russia," Lukas replied, strangely eloquent coming from a child his age. "But we moved here from London a few years ago. How old are you?"

"Eight," Bucky answered before pausing. "Well, almost eight."

"I am eleven," Thor said proudly, as if that obviously made him the coolest kid there. Then he gestured to Lukas and said, "He's only nine."

Lukas rolled his eyes. "Yes, and yet who does Miss Ivanova say is nearly ready to begin seventh grade math at _only_ nine?"

Thor scoffed. "Yes, but Father says I am the best at sports and even better than he was at my age!"

"Yes, well, good luck inheriting the family business and using your skills at tackling other boys to run it."

"Hey! What are you implying?"

"I'm implying nothing, only that of the two of us, it's pretty obvious who is better qualified to run the company someday."

Bucky chuckled. These kids were pretty funny, even though they talked more like grown-ups than little kids.

"Anyway," Lukas said, turning back to the stranger in their midst before Thor could keep arguing, "it's nice to meet you, and if you'd like, we could take you on a tour of the manor."

"Oh, Mr. Pierce already took me on a tour when I first came here," Bucky replied, but Lukas only grinned conspiratorially.

"I mean the _real_ tour."

As Bucky learned after he tagged along with the brothers back inside of the house, the _real_ tour was a much more fun one that only they could provide. They showed him how to reach all the sweet stuff in the kitchen, where the _really_ good stuff was kept hidden, and they told him which maids were nice and which ones to watch out for. They also informed him while showing him their rather dazzling and _huge_ playroom that on certain days all the adults in the house had meetings or other things that took all of their attention and those were the best days because then they could wreak havoc in peace - so long as the surly maids were not nearby.

They were both nice, but Thor reminded Bucky vaguely of Billy back at school - big and tall and fond of making fun of others, but he wasn't as bad as Billy. Lukas, however, was so eloquent and so obviously incredibly smart that it was just weird, and Bucky had nobody to compare him to. But he liked them, and when they showed him the vast, almost shockingly gigantic library that he hadn't seen yet, Lukas hauled out one of his favorite books - a huge volume on Norse myths and legends - and showed Bucky where their Thor and Loki stuff came from.

"I'm Thor, because he is strong and crushes his enemies with his mighty hammer!" Thor announced dramatically, making Bucky chuckle and Lukas roll his eyes.

"And I am always Loki, because he is a _brilliant_ strategist and constantly underestimated. Also, his powers come from his magic, not some stupid hammer."

Bucky nodded, then asked, "What's a strategist?"

"It means that he plans how to defeat his enemies and is always prepared for any possibility," Lukas explained.

"Yeah, and he also fits you because you always cheat," Thor muttered.

Lukas merely shrugged. "That's a matter of opinion. Anyway," he slapped the book shut and then hopped to his feet. "Want to help us steal a big box of chocolate from the kitchens?"

Bucky wasted no time in saying yes and hopping up to follow them. Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

In time, Bucky adjusted to his new life and his new home. It wasn't always easy, but going to school and seeing Steve nearly every day was a big help and a comfort when so few things in life were familiar anymore. He visited Steve often and Steve visited the manor as well, and his first visit even more stupefied than Bucky had been the day that he arrived.

As strange as it was, he got used to living in luxury. But he never forgot where he came from - Steve was key in that, as well as the memory of his family that he held tight to in both his mind and heart - and as he grew, he began to become ever more curious of the world around him and his place in it.

His parents' killer was never arrested. He asked Pierce about that after a year had passed and still nothing had happened, and Pierce explained to him that sometimes, justice wasn't quite as simple as the bad guy getting caught and put in jail. Sometimes in the world, justice was clouded by money or corruption or fear, and someday he would understand. That's what Pierce told him. So he asked the man, who he had come to respect as a smart and caring person, to help him understand. He wanted to grow up and find justice for his parents and stop the same thing from happening to other kids.

Pierce promised him that he would teach him all he needed to know.

* * *

Pierce allowed Bucky to finish elementary school in the city. Then he pulled him out and had him tutored at home from the age of ten years old on. The same tutors also schooled Lukas and Thor, both of whom became good friends of Bucky over his first few years there, and the tutors quickly got Bucky up to the same strict academic standards.

Bucky noticed upon arrival that everybody spoke Russian rather often, including the kids, and he picked up some words and phrases naturally the longer he spent there. Then, when his tutoring began, he started formally learning the language, which Pierce told him was absolutely necessary. Everybody in the house and the families that dwelled within in had a connection to Russia, and now so did Bucky, Pierce said, because he was a part of that family.

He liked that. He liked being part of a family again. He found that he'd do anything to make sure that he didn't lose his chance at having one.

Thor and Lukas's mother was a warm and lovely woman, as pretty as she was genuinely caring, and she treated him almost like one of her own as he grew closer to her sons. He didn't like their father though, an older man with gray hair and a gray beard, missing an eye and always looking rather severe no matter the occasion. He also noticed that Lukas acted similarly around his father that Steve did around his. They both harbored fear of their fathers and wanted their approval desperately, even as children, but they never got it. Thor was the favored child, and Bucky saw this almost immediately. It was blatant, and it made him as mad as Joe Rogers' abuse had. And just like Steve, Lukas held it all inside and never acknowledged a word of it, at least not to Bucky.

There were others in the house, and many came and went. There were parties and events, and sometimes even the mayor and other important political figures came by for meetings or other such grown up purposes. But the day that Bucky really began to realize just how important his legal guardian was came when Pierce took him to work with him.

Bucky had never been inside a skyscraper before, and Pierce - the big boss, he told Bucky - worked near the very top of the building. Everybody smiled and greeted them, treating Pierce with the utmost respect and treating Bucky like a little prince. They brought him snacks and drinks and would have waited on him hand and foot had he wanted. He'd never felt like some strange sort of royalty before until that day.

Pierce told him that one day, he'd work there too. He'd never want for anything, and people would respect him just as they respected Pierce. But he had to take his studies seriously first and excel at them, and prove Pierce's belief in Bucky to be well-inspired.

And so, Bucky worked harder. He spent most of his waking hours learning, studying, challenging his mind and learning the art of self control. His tutors had no set time frame of how much time was necessary for him to sufficiently learn and meet their standards - he was free to take breaks and play whenever he wished. This was a deliberate test. Thor, for example, took many breaks and paid the most attention to those subjects he cared for the most. Lukas and Bucky, however, applied their efforts to all of their subjects and learned to focus on those they struggled with the most, even though they didn't want to.

And through it all, the difficult studies and the dazzling glimpses of what might be his future, Steve kept him grounded through it all. He was Bucky's link to his old life, to Brooklyn and the family he'd lost there, and when they were together it always felt like everything was as it always had been. Bucky could never forget who he was because Steve would never let him. He'd never forget his family, even though he could no longer remember what Rebecca's laugh sounded like or what his mama's homemade soup had smelled like. Their faces faded from his memory as time went on, but so did the pain that had once been so unbearably sharp and constant. Just like Pierce had told him it would, it got better.

Bucky grew from a lost and scared child to a smart and charming young teenager who was too mature for his years. He worked hard and had the accolades from his tutors to show it, and when he turned 13, his studies grew to include a new subject that he found quite puzzling at first: learning how to fight. It was no mere self defense class. It was being taught how to be nothing short of a warrior.

It was something else that Pierce had explained to him was essential for survival. He explained that while he fought most of his own battles in a boardroom with words and figures as his weapons of choice, being the people that they were meant that they were often a target of those who wanted to take their wealth and their influence for themselves. Bucky had asked if that was why his parents had been killed, and Pierce told him that when he was a little bit older, he'd tell him everything he wanted to know about how and why his parents were killed. For then, however, Bucky had to train and prove that he was capable and up to the task.

So he did. He was trained in a number of key martial arts and was taught by a man who was nothing short of mean and utterly brutal. He had expected a process similar to that of mastering Russian - explanations, practice, repetition. And there was a degree of those things, but when he walked out of the manor's tucked away training room the first day with a dislocated shoulder and a black eye, he had wanted to quit and never try again. Pierce talked him out of it, telling him that part of being a man was dealing with pain and working through it rather than running away. Quitting wasn't an option. So Bucky soldiered on.

Sometimes he trained with the other kids as well, as they were also required to learn to fight. Thor excelled at his lessons and was seemingly _born_ to do it, but Lukas was a different story. It wasn't that he was bad at it or a poor learner; rather, he simply rarely followed the rules of engagement. He was always thinking on his feet and looking for ways to outsmart the teacher rather than defeat him with brut strength, and sometimes he would succeed. The teacher would make him pay for it, though.

Then there was the rigorous and quite advanced weapons training that accompanied the combat lessons. While far from easy, for three teenaged boys, it was the best part of the whole deal, and Bucky took to it like a fish to water. He excelled in all areas but showed particular skill in sharpshooting. Lukas was fond of daggers and could throw them with startling accuracy, where Thor preferred guns, especially heavy ones that could double as something with which to crack over the skull of his imaginary opponents.

Overall, it was a difficult time in Bucky's life. Puberty was at hand but he had no time or energy to live life as most kids did, and he hardly ever had the time to hang out with Steve. He was growing and getting taller and could speak Russian with a flawless accent, and by the time that he turned 15, he was also mastering the art of hand to hand combat and could hold his own and sometimes win when he sparred with adults, but his skills were far from complete or fully refined. Pierce expected him to be the best, and he wouldn't rest until he met that expectation.

Bucky was also starting to piece together the truth of the manor and the families that lived within it. As Pierce brought him more deeply into the fold and let him in on a few secrets, it became clear that there was something much bigger and more dangerous at hand than he had been aware of when he had first arrived nearly eight years prior. The last thing he could be called was a stupid boy. And he knew that normal boys - even wealthy, over-privileged ones - did not grow up the way that he had, being groomed to fight and outwit opponents in both fistfights and corporate boardrooms. Steve seemed to figure that out too even though he didn't even know the half of what Bucky was training in, and he even asked Bucky one day half-jokingly if he wasn't sure if he hadn't gone and accidentally joined the Russian mafia.

Bucky would have laughed Steve off if he hadn't been almost certain that he _had_. He'd overheard enough and observed enough to know that he hadn't been adopted into a harmless, strictly law abiding family.

Then, on his sixteenth birthday, Pierce finally told Bucky the full truth of his parents' murder. The story also served as confirmation of Bucky's suspicions regarding the family and just who they really were.

George Barnes had indeed been just a simple pharmacist for most of his adult life, his worst crime being a citation for speeding during his twenties. However, once he had married Freddie and both of their kids had come along, things started to get complicated. He didn't have the income to pay all of Rebecca's medical expenses, even with Freddie's additional teacher salary, and if he couldn't pay for Rebecca's care, then she would slowly die right in front of their eyes. What was a father to do?

"It was around that time," Pierce told Bucky as they sat in his office on the night of his 16th birthday, "that I first met your father. You see, the pharmacy that he worked at was started in the 50s by a young Italian couple. They ran the place until it was purchased from them by a company that doesn't exist. Your father worked for them during the ownership change. He started to notice some strange things. Drug shipments that were five times the size of what the store actually needed. Inventory records altered. The new owner and a Chinese businessman meeting every week in the back office while bodyguards waited outside the door."

Bucky furrowed his brows and listened intently, soaking up the words and rapidly working through them, filing away for later questions that sprang to mind.

"The Triad is a big problem for us," Pierce went on. "Always has been. Goes back years, before I was even born. One of their biggest financial resources is their drug trade. And as you've been taught, the quickest way to weaken someone is to drain them financially. I got in touch with your father and offered to take care of his bills in exchange for specific information - when the drugs were coming in, where they were going, things like that."

Bucky's mind flashed back to his childhood, when his clothes had suddenly gotten newer and nicer and Rebecca had been able to go to the big children's hospital in Manhattan instead of the neighborhood clinic. Now he understood why that had happened.

"Your father was a good, honest man who would have done anything to protect his kids," Pierce told him, sincerely. "I tried to protect him as best as I could. But when you're fighting a war, there's always casualties. And unfortunately, one night he wasn't careful enough, and they caught on to him. After your sister died, he just wasn't the same. He didn't _mean_ to get sloppy. But he did."

"And that's why they were killed," Bucky muttered, the weight of it all hitting him square in the chest. He remembered that night so vividly, more vividly than any other memory of his parents, and now that he knew definitively _why_ it had happened...

"Yes," Pierce replied, watching him carefully. "And I made a promise to your father that if anything happened to him, I would look out for you. But that's not the only reason why I took you in. I took you in because I saw even then the potential in you for greatness. Not many people have that. And not many people have even a fraction of the strength that I've seen in you."

Bucky looked up at Pierce, unaccustomed to hearing such open praise from him.

"I won't always be around to run the company," Pierce went on, "or take care of people who rely on me. Somebody has to take over for me one day. Somebody that I can trust to work as hard as I do every day and not lose sight of the bigger picture. And I believe that someone is you."

Bucky stared at him, a conflicted mess of feelings that he had no idea what to do with. He was angry over his parents, surprised by Pierce's words and taken aback by what he was saying now.

"But I'm gonna start being completely honest with you from here on out," Pierce added. "I've sheltered you until now, because you were just a kid and you had already seen too much. But you're smart. You know this no ordinary home, no ordinary situation. I'm sure you've pieced it together by now. So I'm going to give you a choice. If you want, you can be my heir. Everything I have, everything I own, I'll pass it on to you, including my job, as long as you earn it. But if you don't want this - this life and what comes with it - then this is your chance to opt out. You can stay until you're 18, and then you can leave and go anywhere you want. But if you choose to stay, you can't change your mind later. This is the most important commitment you'll ever make in your life. And I know that it's a lot to ask of you, but I need to know where you stand."

The truth was, it had been eight years since Bucky had left Brooklyn and come to this manor just outside of the city. Those eight years were like an entirely separate lifetime, and he was very different from the boy that he had been back then. This life, this home, and this family was what he knew. And now that he knew why his parents had been murdered in cold blood, he also knew that staying and accepting the offered role as heir meant one day taking head on those very people who had put his mom and dad in the ground. And that meant that he had zero doubt in his answer.

"I want to stay," he said, voice steady and resolute, leaving no room for doubt.

Pierce studied him for a moment, but he didn't question his answer. Instead, he nodded once and then said, "Good. That's what I thought you'd choose."

Bucky swallowed and couldn't have truly known then quite all that he had just committed to. But at that moment, it didn't matter. He had a family and he had a future. And one day, he'd have his revenge too.

* * *

If Bucky had thought that his commitment was as simple as saying _yes_ and continuing on in his studies, he was proven very wrong two years later. He still had to prove himself, and doing that would come at no small cost.

After being accepted to Pierce's alma mater of Harvard University, Bucky had been fairly certain of what to expect out of life for the foreseeable future. He'd go away to college, graduate, continue on to Harvard Business School just like Pierce had, then come back home and start working for the company that would one day be his. It was simple, predictable, easy - or so he thought. He didn't know that he had to pass a very important test before _any_ of that could come to fruition.

It happened a week after his 18th birthday party. Pierce told Bucky on an otherwise ordinary morning that some very important people were coming later that day to meet him - people who Pierce himself answered to. They were coming all the way from Russia, and this, Pierce said, was the true test of Bucky's worth. Pierce already believed in him and didn't need convincing, but these people did. Play his cards right and one day he'd have everything he wanted; screw it up and his future might be in jeopardy.

He didn't know what to expect, and nobody gave him much in the way of hints. Even Lukas was tight lipped, and he usually gleefully told Bucky _everything_ that he knew and wasn't supposed to tell. All that Bucky knew was that he was supposed to meet these very important people in the training area of the manor later that day and he was to be prepared to showcase his skills and talents. It sounded like a damn audition.

And as he found out later, it sort of _was_.

Baron Von Strucker was the man whom Pierce reported to. He was at the very center of all operations and oversaw them from Moscow, delegating foreign operations to those he trusted to act under his command, like Pierce. He had heard much about James Barnes and the potential that he held, and while he trusted Pierce's judgment, he wanted to see the boy for himself. After all, there were other candidates back home who had already proven themselves to Strucker and had the experience to back it up. But he'd never heard his American counterpart vouch so fully for _anyone_ ever before.

And so, feeling more nervous than he had for anything in years, Bucky walked into the training room later that day and found it strangely full of people, including Thor and Lukas's one eyed father. Pierce greeted him and introduced him to their very honored guests, and Bucky was polite and respectful to each of them, addressing them in perfect Russian. He could see Strucker's appraising gaze, the stony and cold calculations in his eyes as Pierce told Bucky to go ahead and show them what he had learned.

The first thing that he did was showcase his skills as a sharpshooter. In another room, he used not one but three separate guns, a pistol and two rifles, and he didn't miss a single target. Each shot was dead on, most of them headshots, and Pierce was visibly pleased with the results. Then, they moved into a different room, and a man who had accompanied Strucker to the states was told to spar with Bucky and test his skills.

He was taller than Bucky and bigger too, though Bucky was not exactly small nor skinny. But Bucky wasn't intimidated. He'd been training almost every single day for five years with teachers who were gratuitously brutal and believed that injuries built character. He could handle this.

And he did. Halfway through the match his opponent whipped out a knife from his side and came at him, but he only let himself be surprised for a fraction of a second before he adapted to the development and then looked for a way to turn the advantage back to himself. He took shallow slashes to both the arm and to his side, but he managed to get behind his opponent and dislocate his elbow and force him to drop the knife. Then he picked it up and held it to his throat, and that was the end of the match. He won, and he looked up to find Strucker impressed. Pierce was full of pride.

Bucky handed the knife back to his rather miffed former adversary, and the man stalked off. He thought that it was over, but it wasn't. Pierce walked up to Bucky, told him that he wasn't quite finished yet, and handed him a gun before looking at one of the other men present and simply nodding. They left, and moments later they returned dragging in a Chinese man who was bound and gagged and bleeding from multiple places on his body.

The man was dropped unceremoniously to his knees in front of Bucky, who stared at him for a moment before looking up questioningly at Pierce.

"This is your enemy," Pierce explained. "He's a soldier, like you will be. Only difference is that he chose the wrong side. He made his choice. And now he has to face the consequences."

It was obvious what Bucky was meant to do, and he wouldn't embarrass himself by asking for clarification or letting it show how very terrified he suddenly was. The gun felt like it weighed a ton in his hand, and after Pierce leaned down to take the gag out of the man's mouth, he walked away and went back to Strucker's side, leaving Bucky alone with the defenseless target before him.

"Please," the man cried and begged over and over, reduced to a desperate and pathetic mess on the floor. " _Please_. I've got a family, I've got... _please_..."

For one terrifying but fleeting moment, the sound of Bucky's own father pleading for his life flashed through his mind, crystal clear and vivid after all of those years. His stomach turned - had he become the thing that he hated, someone who would take the life of someone's father and walk away as if nothing had happened? Was there some poor boy or girl somewhere who would wake up the next day without a father and have to feel the crushing pain that Bucky had carried in his own heart for so long?

This was wrong, everything within him screamed at him. It was _wrong_ , and he didn't want this.

But then he looked at Pierce, who subtly nodded to him, and just like that, a cold numbness slowly washed over him and replaced the terror and the repulsion with something much easier to deal with. The man at his feet was not innocent like his father had been. The man at his feet was his enemy, part of the organization that had murdered both of his parents, and if Bucky didn't kill him somebody else in that room would anyway. He was already dead. And he didn't deserve mercy. Like Pierce said, they were both soldiers. And this man was on the wrong side of the war. That was all it was.

And so, looking the man right in the eye and never wavering, Bucky raised the gun and turned off the safety. The man squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, bracing himself, and Bucky pulled the trigger without hesitation. He shot the man right through his skull, and as the body crumpled on top of the growing pool of blood and brain matter on the previously pristine floor, the last of Bucky's innocence was destroyed and forgotten.

He had pleased Strucker greatly. Everything was a numb, surreal haze as he shook hands with Strucker and heard praise heaped upon him as well as words of welcome all around. Apparently he'd passed the test and was now and forever officially one of them.

Luckily, he managed to keep the vomit crawling its way up his throat at bay until he made it back to his room. No amount of praise or rewards could make the act of murder any less unnatural than it was, especially the murder of an unarmed man without a single defense at his disposal.

But Bucky was a soldier. He had committed to that life and that family, and his first act of murder was the blood-stamped seal upon that contract. He couldn't go back. He _wouldn't_ go back.

"It'll get easier," Pierce had whispered to him just before Bucky had finally been able to leave and seek refuge in his room. "Trust me."

And for better or worse, he _did_ trust him.

* * *

Joseph Rogers died from a mixture of heart and liver problems just after Steve was accepted to an art school in the city. For everyone, Sarah included, his death came as something of a relief. Bucky was glad that the old tyrant had finally succumbed to his own self-inflicted ailments, and it was a great burden lifted from his mind to know that neither Steve nor his mother would ever have to deal with Joe's abuse again.

The funeral was the last time Bucky saw Steve before Bucky headed to Cambridge. Sarah was a crying, grieving mess, and Steve was strong for them both, grieving in his own conflicted way. Sarah was mourning the man that Joe had once been; Steve was mourning the death of the idea of the father that Joe had never been. He'd never redeem himself because he was dead, and now Steve was the man of the family.

"You all right?" Bucky asked him after they'd laid the coffin into the ground. They were taking a short walk around the cemetery grounds, while some friends from Sarah's church comforted her near Joe's grave.

"Yeah, I think so," Steve muttered, hands in his pockets and eyes downcast. At 18, he had barely cracked 5'5 and Bucky was pretty sure his weight had never even crossed triple digits. "It's just weird. I don't wanna feel relieved but I do. I think Mom does too, and that's one of the reasons why she's having such a hard time."

Bucky nodded, staying quiet. He hadn't seen Steve much since his _initiation_ , and to keep from Steve something as monumental as what he had experienced and was diving headfirst into was harder than he could have ever expressed. But he couldn't tell Steve, because Steve would surely be horrified and disgusted, and then Bucky would lose him, and he just... couldn't risk it. _That_ could never happen.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said as they continued to wander slowly through the trail. "He was still your dad, even if he was..."

"Horrible," Steve finished for him. "Yeah. It's okay. Least now it's over." He then glanced at Bucky and gave him a weary smile. "This wasn't really how I wanted to spend your last day in town."

Bucky nodded, shrugging his shoulder. "Yeah... me neither. Guess we can just get your mom home in a little bit and stay in. Watch some movies."

"Like when we were kids?" Steve asked, his smile a little less forced.

"Yeah, camp out on the floor with the couch cushions. You'd still fit on them."

"That's true," Steve said, glancing down at himself as if to confirm that he was indeed still tiny. "Sure that's all you want to do, though? I figured you'd want to do something more exciting."

"No," Bucky half-chuckled. "Kinda want the opposite of that for once."

Steve nodded, eyeing him a bit curiously as they came to a stop. They were now standing in front of where Bucky's whole family was buried, and as Bucky stared at the headstones with an unreadable expression on his face, Steve asked, "Are _you_ okay, Bucky?"

Bucky's eyes flashed to those of his friend, immediately throwing him what was meant to be a nonchalant smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why you asking _me_?"

"I don't know," Steve shrugged. "Guess I can tell when something's off with you. And something's been off for awhile now."

Bucky's expression lapsed into back into unreadability, hating the way that he felt whenever the secrets he had to hide and his best friend ended up threatening to collide. It was a sickening, gut-twisting sensation accompanied by a nice dose of shame.

He stared at his sister's name, etched in stone, and he wondered in the back of his mind how remarkable it was that all these years later, losing her to a disease could still hurt so much more than losing his parents to cold blooded murder. Perhaps it was because parents were meant to die in time. But little sisters weren't supposed to die, especially not so suddenly and not so early.

"You can tell me anything, you know," Steve told him. "And I mean it. Anything."

"I know," Bucky muttered, though he truly did _not_ know that. Sure, in theory Steve was there for him and Bucky could tell him anything. But everyone, even Steve, had their limit of what they could handle or accept. And Bucky didn't want to burden Steve with the truth of what his existence was destined to become, or scare him away or repulse him with the story of what he'd done.

When Steve's hand ended up comfortingly on Bucky's shoulder, he looked at Steve incredulously and muttered, "It's _your_ dad's funeral, not mine. _I'm_ supposed to be doing the shoulder pat thing."

"Yeah, geez, Bucky, get on the ball," Steve replied before smiling while Bucky rolled his eyes and called him a punk. They then turned and started to head back towards Sarah, back on the other side of the cemetery.

"This is gonna be weird," Steve said with a sigh. "Dad being gone. You being in Cambridge at _Harvard_. Me at an art school nobody's ever heard of, racking up loan debt I'll be paying back for the next thirty years."

"That your way of saying you're gonna miss me?"

Steve scoffed playfully. "Let's not get crazy here. By the way, I expect at least two phone calls a week. And I want to hear all about the girls you meet."

"Why?"

"Because I can't get none of them to talk to me," he muttered. "Gotta live vicariously through _someone_."

"I'm telling you, Steve, it's all about confidence," Bucky replied, though he didn't actually know that firsthand. But that was what Lukas told him, and Lukas was _much_ more experienced in the area of girls than Bucky was.

"Yeah, easy for you to say," Steve replied before Sarah came back into view. She was dabbing at her teary eyes, leaning on the arm of one of her friends, and Steve's expression turned back to somber as he glanced at Bucky and said, "Ready to get her home?"

Bucky nodded, doing his best from that moment forward to put his more unpleasant thoughts aside and focus on getting the two people he loved most in the world home and safe. The longer that he spent pretending to be normal and no different than he had ever been, the easier he could start to believe that it was true and that maybe he wasn't as warped and _wrong_ as he felt on the inside.

And if he was only lying to himself, that was okay. He was already lying to everybody else.

* * *

College came as a welcome reprieve and distraction from the life that Bucky had left behind in New York. He knew it was only temporary and that soon enough, he'd be back home and one step closer to taking on the role that Pierce was grooming him for. He had accepted that and he hadn't once seriously considered rethinking his choices, but being away from it all and getting the chance to finally feel young and normal for once was not something that he was going to take for granted.

And he didn't. Aside from having the money to rent an apartment close to campus and avoid dorm life, he lived a normal student life and got the full college experience. He went to all of his classes and never missed one, studied until he knew all of the learning materials backwards, and still found time in between all of that to meet new people and go to the parties that they invited him to. It was during these alcohol-laden social events that he discovered something rather life-changing; girls liked him, and he _really_ liked them.

It wasn't that he'd been undecided or unaware of girls and his attraction to them before, but there had simply been a lack of opportunity and interesting prospects. He had listened to Thor and Lukas tell him all about their conquests in excruciating detail and had been kissed by a girl that he'd been pressured by them into asking to dance at one of the parties at the manor when he was 17, but that was where his experience ended. And that meant that he was in for a _serious_ awakening during his freshman year at college.

At his first major party, he drank enough cheap beer and took enough shots to get him tipsy and ended up on a couch locked in a furious makeout session with a giggly blonde girl whose name he wasn't entirely sure of. It didn't go beyond that because even half drunk he knew better than to take advantage of a fully drunk girl at a party. Then at his second party, he drank a little less and was introduced to two brunette girls by one of his new friends. After talking for a bit and flirting up a storm - he was good at that, it turned out - they dragged him to an empty bedroom and took turns kissing him on his lap, kissing _each other_ in between turns, and he was fairly sure that he had died and gone to heaven. At least until the cops showed up and the girls scattered, one of them with a boyfriend that she had neglected to mention. Still, it was _awesome,_ and he made sure Steve heard _all_ about it.

But the _true_ awakening came one day out of the blue, just before a psych lecture. It was very early and he was half asleep after having stayed up late studying the night before, but he woke right up when a girl wearing glasses and looking as bright as the morning sun came bustling into the lecture hall and took a seat next to him. Her vibrant red hair was tossed up in a haphazard bun and though there wasn't a speck of makeup on her face, her pale green eyes stood out to him in a way that no other pair of eyes ever had before.

And when she caught him staring at her, she tossed him a slightly shy, friendly smile, and he smiled back while feeling like he was suddenly 13 again and completely incapable of talking to the entire female species.

Then she set down a cup of coffee in front of her, and he eyed the thing with such longing in his eyes that she chuckled and asked, "Long night?"

The best response that he could muster was another smile and a muttered, "Yeah."

She took a sip and then told him, "You should wake up early enough for coffee next time."

He then saw his chance and seized it, malfunctioning brain be damned. "That an invitation?"

She paused halfway to another drink of her coffee and then looked at him with wide, endlessly amused eyes. "Think you might want to ask my name before you ask me out?"

And just like that, he felt like the world's biggest idiot. His face felt hot - was he actually _blushing_? - and he smiled with embarrassment as he said, "I'm sorry, I'm - I'm just delirious, and you are _very_ pretty, so..."

"It's okay," she chuckled, and the way that she said it, he believed that it really was okay. "And thank you, even though I literally just rolled out of bed and came here." Before he could tell her that she wore that look better than any woman he'd seen before, she smiled again and said, "I'm Vivian."

He grinned. "Bucky."

"Bucky?" she repeated. "Oh, that's cute. My friend has a dog named Bucky." She then paused and laughed at herself and said, "Oh, now _I'm_ embarrassing myself."

"It's okay," he chuckled, shrugging. "My friend has a cat named Vivian."

She smiled "Really?"

He shook his head and grinned. "No."

He made her laugh with that, and the sound of it made him feel lighter inside. He would have kept the conversation going, but then the professor walked in to start the lecture, and he forced himself to try to focus on the subject at hand.

He didn't do a very good job at paying attention, but by the time that the lecture had ended and he was headed off to his next class, he had asked Vivian out for coffee - properly this time - and she had said yes. And he was more excited than he'd been about _anything_ in a long time.

* * *

Their coffee date happened the next day, and it went so well that Bucky was left in a _fantastic_ mood, one that lasted him all week until their next date. He found that he could talk to her with incredible ease, which for him was nothing short of shocking, and she was so _light_ and normal and _sweet_ that being around her lifted his spirits in a way that only left him wanting more. And luckily for him, she agreed to give him more.

She was a drama student, also a freshman. Even more coincidentally, she was also from New York City, and both of her parents were Harvard graduates. They were reasonably wealthy, but she didn't act like some of the rich girls he'd met back at home. She didn't have the pretentious streak nor the vanity that he'd encountered before, but she _did_ have a wonderful sense of humor and a personality that made her seem like human sunshine. And she was _beautiful_.

Their first date lasted _hours_ , long after their coffee was gone, and it ended with a friendly hug and Vivian agreeing to have dinner with him the following Saturday night. He was both elated and beyond nervous. He was so anxious, in fact, that he called Lukas for dating advice.

After laughing at him for nearly five minutes nonstop, Lukas gave Bucky a rundown of the basics required for a good date - things like restaurant choice, choice of outfit, those sorts of things - and then he went over how to properly treat a lady. Get the doors for her, including the car door, offer to take her coat if she was wearing one, and bring a small gift of some kind. It could be flowers, jewelry, anything, but he should bring her _something_.

"And _then_ ," Lukas had said when the conversation neared its end, "after this _Vivian_ has finally made a man out of you, I do expect you to call me back with all of the scandalous details."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off," Bucky had replied before hanging up, though he did so with a smile on his face.

When Saturday rolled around, he showed up at her door to pick her up carrying not a bouquet of store bought flowers but a small handful of wild flowers he'd found outside of his apartment building before he left. Vivian, being on the more privileged side, probably would not be wowed by even the fanciest of flower arrangements and wouldn't have a lot of room for one in a dorm. But the wildflowers were a personal touch and he hoped that she would like them.

She did like them. Her eyes lit up when she met him outside of her dorm and saw him standing there holding the flowers, and he felt his stomach flutter at the sight of her wearing a dress and high heels with her red hair down and loosely curled. She ran the flowers inside and put them in a water bottle - the closest thing that she had to a vase - and then kissed him on the cheek before they made their way to his car.

The dinner went even better than coffee had. They talked more and laughed and shared dessert, then lingered at the table until the restaurant closed and they had no choice but to leave. She told him about her family back home, her dreams of being a professional actress and a singer, and about how nice it was to meet a guy like him on a campus that was otherwise full of guys she hadn't spared a second glance to. That made him smile, and smiling in a way that wasn't forced was something that he could get used to.

Bucky was a little more guarded with his own story, naturally, and while there were _some_ things he simply couldn't tell her, she did get him to open up a bit. He told her about Steve and some of the adventures they'd had together, and about growing up mostly poor in the 80s in Brooklyn. He didn't mention his sister, but he did mention how his parents died when he was young and how a wealthy friend of the family had taken him in and raised him. The other details could come later - maybe - but for then, he kept it simple and as honest as he could manage. And she responded in a way that was refreshing - sympathetic and gentle, but without pity. She also helped him turn the conversation back around to something a lot lighter and more pleasant, and then they were right back on track.

Everything was easy with her, and he'd never experienced that before with a woman. Time ticked away like it was nothing, and before he knew it, it was time to take her back to her dorm. He tried to drive slow just to buy more time, but all too soon it was time to say goodbye.

In his parked car, he turned to the pretty, visibly slightly nervous woman in the passenger seat, and quietly he told her, "Thank you for tonight. I had a really good time."

"Me too," she smiled, and he found himself smiling back. "I can't believe we stayed until the restaurant closed."

His grin widened. "I tipped them enough that I don't think they minded it very much."

"Sorry about that," she replied. "Next time you should let me pay."

He looked at her like she was crazy. "Not gonna happen."

She sighed, deciding not to argue the fact. " _Fine_. I should get inside... it's pretty late."

He nodded. "All right."

"Thank you again," she said quietly, stealing a glance at his lips that he didn't miss. Her smile seemed to be permanently etched on her face, and as he reached out his hand between them cautiously to touch one of her curls, she looked up into his eyes with the same anticipation that he felt himself in that moment. He could hardly believe how nervous he was, but he didn't let that anxiety stop him from cupping the side of her face and leaning in to kiss her for the first time.

The moment their lips touched, he felt something incredible happen inside. His anxiety dissolved and he felt honest to God _butterflies_ erupt in his belly, a warmth spreading through his veins and carrying all the way to his fingertips as they caressed the soft skin of her face. They kissed slowly and carefully at first, both testing the waters, and when Vivian pulled away to look up at him as her own hand went to his hair, running through the short dark strands, he looked at her and knew right then that she was something special.

Then she leaned in and kissed him again, and when he felt even _more_ that time around, he realized that he could easily become addicted to this, to _her_. None of his previous kisses had ever been like this, and nobody had ever made him feel this way before. It was new and it was exquisite, and he wanted - _needed_ \- more. And so did she.

Previously soft and sweet kisses slowly became hot, increasingly frenzied kisses, and Bucky let his hands wander as Vivian got more courageous with her tongue. She knew what she was doing, kissing him with a skill and a passion that made his head spin and body crave more from her. His hands ran down her shoulder, her sides, her hips and her bare legs, and she shifted closer to him, angling to make it easier for him to touch her. He didn't want to take it too far or put her off, but his body was calling the shots instead of his brain and when his hand ran over her breast for the first time, he groped her almost clumsily, seeming to catch himself and pulling his hand away so fast that she couldn't _not_ notice.

"Sorry," he blurted when she broke the kiss, looking at him curiously. "I've never... sorry."

He tried to kiss her again before he embarrassed himself more, but she stopped him, eyeing him curiously and heatedly. "You've never... what?"

He shook his head, trying to pull her back to him. "Nothing, nothing, forget it."

He tried to kiss her again, but she stopped him once more. "No, tell me. It's okay."

He paused, not wanting to tell her, but... this was always going to come up, sooner or later. He swallowed his pride and, looking her up and down, admitted, "This is very... new for me. I've never slept with anyone, I've barely even kissed anyone, and..."

After clamping his mouth shut to spare himself further embarrassment, he watched as her eyes grew wider with surprise. Then she smiled. "Really?"

He nodded, looking at her cautiously, hoping that this new information wouldn't turn her off. It didn't.

" _Wow_. And here I thought you must have been with _all_ the girls," she said, thumb tracing the faint stubble on his jaw. "It's okay. Come here."

She pulled him back to her and kissed him, slow and sure and with that heat that was so incredibly addictive. This time as the kiss lingered and grew into many more, she reached her hand to his and showed him where to touch her. She kept it simple, over her clothes and in safe places at first, until his hand found her breast again. That was when she let go of his hand and kissed him harder, encouraging him to take the lead, and he did. He trailed his lips down to her neck, taking his time exploring her there and getting lost in the sweet tension building between them.

He was fine and still perfectly in control, at least until Vivian reached up behind her neck and pulled free the tie holding up the straps of her dress. She broke the kiss and watched him watch her as she peeled down the top of her dress, asking him, "These windows are completely tinted, right?"

He nodded dumbly, staring at the first real-life pair of breasts he'd ever seen that weren't on a magazine of a TV screen, and he nearly lost it right then. They were so perfect - _she_ was perfect - and she didn't need to guide his hands this time around. And after he gently cupped one breast and stroked his thumb over her nipple, she inhaled a little sharply and leaned in just enough to his touch to let him know that she liked it. His eyes flickered up to hers, and then he kissed her fiercely as his desire threatened to rage out of control.

But things were only getting started. Soon his lips were on her breast, tongue swirling and teasing while his hand took care of her other one, and she was squirming softly in the passenger seat and gripping his hair in her delicate fingers. When he came up for air and kissed her lips again, she surged forward a bit and kissed him like she needed more, much more. Her hand unbuttoned his shirt, just the first few buttons, and then it was _her_ turn to get handsy. He was fine until she reached his thighs, her teeth gently biting his lower lip as her palm brushed over him and made him groan out loud.

He then opened his eyes and found her watching him with a certain sparkle of mischief in her eyes. Then she began to undo his belt, and she had gotten his zipper halfway down before he stopped her hand and then said breathlessly, "No, no. You first."

"You sure?"

He was _very_ sure. Lukas would have killed him otherwise for disregarding one of his most basic rules when it came to women.

He nodded quickly. She bit her lip and glanced down at her lap, opening her legs a little wider in an invitation for his hand. He didn't hesitate, shifting closer to her and placing his hand on her bare upper thigh after she pulled up her skirt enough for him to catch a glimpse of the black lace panties underneath.

She kissed him again, then asked, "Have you ever..."

He shook his head, then half-whispered, "Show me how."

He could tell by the way that she bit her lip and grinned that she was _loving_ this. "Okay." She took his hand and guided it higher, between her legs and softly placing it where she wanted it. She rubbed his fingers over her softly, through the lace, and she kissed him again before guiding his fingers up again and then inside of her underwear, her much smaller fingers dictating his larger ones.

He almost moaned at how wet and _hot_ she was. She let out a soft little sound and said, "See how wet you've gotten me?"

" _Fuck_ ," he marveled softly, playing a little bit with his fingertips. She let him explore a bit for a few moments, and then when she couldn't wait anymore, she coaxed his fingers back up.

"Right... here," she said once she placed his fingers in the right spot.

He was so _excited_ he could barely contain himself. "There?"

"Right there," she told him, letting go completely and letting him take over fully. "Just... rub me right there. Start slow and be gentle."

So he did. And within moments, he had gotten the hang of what he was doing and Vivian's eyes were closed and her back was arched, and his mouth was closed around her nipple as he worked her up into a frenzy. It was spellbinding, the look on her face and the sounds she made, the way that her hips rocked against his hand and the gentle way that she told him _faster_ when she was close. And once he got her there, watching her let go and shake and gasp as she clutched his hair hard almost made him lose it right with her. It was by far the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life, and the fact that _he_ had done it to her and caused it made it all the more intoxicating.

It was sheer curiosity then, moments later, that led him to pull his hand away and, as he held her close and coaxed her back down to earth, bring his fingers up to his mouth to find out what she tasted like. She opened her eyes just in time to see it, and then she blushed and looked up at him in surprise. He didn't blink, didn't grin, didn't waver. One day, when they weren't in a car and he could take his time and explore her the way he wanted to, he'd taste her properly and learn how to make her lose her mind like that.

As if she could read his mind, she kissed him with a renewed passion, and then his mind was deliciously blank as his own desire began to reach painful levels. She knew this, and soon her hand was back between his legs, this time pulling him free and wrapping around him in a firm, confident hold that was _not_ a beginner's touch.

He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against hers, moaning roughly at the first stroke and sucking in a harsh breath at the second. By the sixth, he was tensing and holding back a gasp, and in only seven strokes, he was gone and making a noise that he'd never heard come out of his mouth before. But it was simply too good and he couldn't hold back.

Once the world started spinning again, he opened his eyes to find Vivian smiling at him again, beautiful as she sat there half naked and disheveled in his car after only their second date. And yet nothing about any of it felt rushed. It all felt right, like everything was unfolding exactly as it was supposed to.

She kissed him one more time, both of them quietly and carefully trying to fix themselves and make themselves at least mostly presentable again. She pulled down her dress and - sadly - fixed the top of it, retying it, and Bucky... he was a mess and he knew it. There was only so much he could do to _not_ look like he'd just hooked up with a beautiful girl in his car.

"Now it's _really_ late," she said cheekily, looking sated and happy. "I've gotta go."

He nodded. "I know. Sorry for keeping you."

She giggled and kissed him, trying to fix his hair for him. "You made up for it pretty well."

He looked at her, still full of lust that was just waiting to be stoked again. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. You're a quick learner."

He grinned. "I can't wait to learn more."

She grinned back and kissed him softly. "I can't wait to teach you more."

It took them a few more moments, but after a handful of more kisses and a few more words, they finally separated and he watched her open the car door, get out, shoot him a big smile and then close the door before heading on her way back to her dorm. He watched her go, unable to wipe the smile off of his face or ignore how amazing it felt to finally feel _good_ for once. And it wasn't just for the obvious reasons that he felt that way. He liked her - he _really_ liked her - and she made him feel things he'd never felt before. She was fascinating, enchanting, and he already couldn't wait to see her again.

He was in deep, _deep_ trouble.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Bucky and Vivian learned more about each other. He learned that she could sing like an angel and that she was the first person he'd ever met who genuinely hated chocolate and all chocolate-related things. She in turn learned that he rather _loved_ chocolate and had never seen _The Wizard of Oz_ , and she planned to remedy the latter on what ended up being their fourth date.

The new couple had been fitting in time with each other and dates around their hectic schedules, making it work despite the time constraints and studies that took up most of their time. Steve was excited to hear that his best friend had finally found a girl who genuinely interested him, and Lukas was always eager to dispense advice that sometimes went well beyond what Bucky asked for. But he was helpful in planning the fourth date, which Bucky had a feeling would be a very important one. They had been growing closer and closer, their dates almost always ending the way that the first one had, and he was desperate to get her in his apartment and have the night truly all to themselves without time being a problem. Her proposed movie night was the perfect way to make that happen, but he wanted to make it special somehow.

Steve suggested making her a nice dinner. Bucky liked that idea, but beyond scrambled eggs and things that could be cooked in the microwave or in a pot in fifteen minutes, he was clueless in the art of cooking. Then Lukas, being ever skilled at getting around inconvenient things, suggested then that he just order in from a very nice restaurant and lay the meal out in real dishes and get decent wine that he could bribe an older student to buy him. Then Bucky could just explain that he'd wanted to cook for her but cared about her too much to subject her to the ghastly mess that would have resulted had he tried. Bucky thought the combined ideas were brilliant.

And so, when that night came, Bucky power cleaned his apartment and set out dishes and glasses that he'd bought that very day, took a shower, made sure his bedroom was clean and that his bed was made, and then when the food arrived, worked on getting it all laid out like he'd pictured it in his head. Then when he heard her delicate little knock on the door as he lit candles on the table, his head shot up and he actually _gulped_ a little. It never failed to take him surprise how nervous and antsy this woman could make him without even trying.

When he opened the door and found her smiling brightly and clutching her VHS movie in her hand, he couldn't help but smile back just as widely and pull her into his arms for a kiss. As nervous and fluttery as he felt inside whenever she was around, being with her was also the easiest thing in the world. It might have been contradictory, but it worked and it was the highlight of his days.

Then when he led her inside and her jaw dropped at the sight of the candlelit dinner that was waiting for her, he felt the strangest sensation deep in his chest, like his heart could just fly away right out of his body at any minute. He didn't realize that he was falling in love and that it was the reason why he was feeling such odd things.

She loved the dinner, adored the candles and the wine, and he found that making her happy made him happy. He couldn't wipe the smile off of his face, especially not once the glass and a half of wine that she'd had made her giggly and a little bit flushed. He loved her like that, loved the sound of her laugh and the sparkle in her eyes, and by the time that they were moving to the couch to watch the movie, he wasn't sure that he had even half the patience required to watch a movie that was as long as _Oz_.

But as it turned out, he had been worried for nothing. Barely half an hour had passed of them curled up together on his couch in front of the TV before _she_ grew impatient, still warm from the wine and just as attracted to him as he was to her. His arm was around her shoulder and her head had been lying on him when her hand went to his knee and she shifted, kissing his neck softly and sending little shivers down his spine. He thought she'd stop but she didn't, her hand dragging up his thigh as she gently sucked a little mark on his neck. His hand was in her hair and his eyes were closed when she pulled away to admire her work, and then he opened his eyes just in time to see her grin at him before she moved herself into his lap and kissed him.

It was the first time he'd ever had her in his lap like that, and the soft way that she would grind down on him while kissing him senseless sent him into overdrive so quickly it caught even him by surprise. The movie forgotten, they kissed and touched and worked each other up into a frantic but sweet mess just before Vivian briefly hit the brakes.

"Bucky," she breathed, licking her lips and cradling his face in her hands as they both panted lightly, "I... I'm ready if you are."

He watched her for a moment, the words making no sense to his lust-addled brain for a few seconds. Then he understood. "You mean..."

She nodded, her hips brushing over his and feeling how eager he already was, how eager he'd been since she had first kissed his neck some moments ago. "Yes." She kissed him and then murmured, "I want you."

Her words made his heart pound like a drum against his chest, and he stood up so fast it made her giggle and wrap her entire body around his to keep from falling. He held her up and took them into his bedroom, kissing her neck the whole way. Then once they were there, standing in front of his bed, he set her down on her feet, and then piece by piece, they began to rid the other of their clothes.

His shirt went first, and when her gaze fell upon the tattoo on the left side of his chest, he saw a flash of surprise in her eyes. She touched the star that he'd been inked with following his initiation, having no idea of the meaning of what she was looking at, and he distracted her by kissing her and quickly but gently getting her own shirt off next. Next came the skirt she wore, and soon they were back on track, kissing in a frenzy with hands everywhere and bodies eager, so eager in fact that she got distracted halfway through getting his pants undone and simply slid her hand into them, teasing him and making him groan against her lips. She smiled, adoring how sensitive he was, and he didn't see how she bit her lip lightly before pulling her hand away and sitting down on the edge of the bed in front of him.

His eyes flew open, and he was confused for all of two seconds before she tugged him closer by his hips and pulled down the rest of his clothes, letting them hit the floor at his feet before she took him back in her hand again. She looked up and locked eyes with him, that sparkle back in her gaze as she leaned closer and took him in her mouth for the first time.

Lucky for him that she went slow, otherwise he might have brought the night to a very abrupt and sudden but for him _incredible_ end. His eyes widened a little before they rolled shut, a rough hiss of a curse that wasn't in English rushing from his mouth before he could stop it. He clutched the back of her hair and tried to stay steady and not lose his head, but it wasn't easy. Her mouth was warm and enclosed tight around him and _perfect_ , and when he opened his eyes to look down and find her peeking up at _him_ , a shudder rolled through his body and his eyes fell shut as his head tipped slightly back. She was _incredible_.

She stopped her just seconds before he would have lost it, gently but frantically tugging her head away and watching as her lips slid away and left him at just the right moment. She looked up at him and grinned, knowing full well what she was doing to him, and then she giggled in a way that made his heart soar as he laid her back and crawled on top of her.

"Like that?" she asked cheekily between passionate, nearly desperate kisses he laid on her lips.

"You're fucking amazing, you know that?" he groaned, dragging his eyes up and down her body and gently groping her through her lace bra. She bit her lip and smiled in reply, then arched up so he could reach beneath her and unclasp the bra, then pull it from her body and fling it to the floor. Then he took her wrists in his hands and laid them above his head, admiring the way that she looked like that - laid out underneath him, so very nearly naked, a faint blush on her cheeks as his eyes made love to her before the rest of him could.

He could have had her then, he knew, but there was something more important that he had to take care of first. He finally had her in his bed, the night still early and belonging just to them, and next he gently kissed her lips before beginning a slow, torturous descent down her body.

Her skin was so soft, her body sensitive and responsive to his every touch and kiss as he worked his way down. He'd kissed every last inch of her until his lips brushed the lace of her panties, and then he looked up at her as his fingers hooked into the material and began to gently pull. She was blushing harder, watching him with great anticipation and letting her legs fall open as he settled himself between them. He only broke eye contact to look down, his hands gripping her hips as one little flutter of anxiety flew through him at the last minute. He knew what to do, at least in theory, and he wanted to - _fuck_ he wanted to - but he _had_ to get it right. Thankfully, he could trust her to guide him there if Lukas's detailed instructions didn't quite do it.

But like she had told him before, he was a quick learner. He took a breath, inhaling her scent and feeling his mouth water just before he took his first taste, and after that, it all came shockingly naturally. He loved it, loved playing and experimenting and finding out what could make her arch and grab his hair while she gasped softly, and once he had gotten a feel for it and gained a sense of confidence, he draped her leg over his shoulder and attacked her with a new passion. And then it was only seconds before he had her shaking and moaning so softly and sweetly that it was almost song-like.

He didn't want to stop, but when she gently pushed on his head and squirmed away slightly, he pulled back and licked his lips as he looked her over. She was trying to catch her breath, breathing heavy and wearing a lazy, happy smile as he made his way up her body.

He couldn't help but gently kiss her lips and then murmur in a tone rough with desire, "You taste so fucking good." Her smile widened and she giggled softly, and he traced her lips with his thumb as he added, "You're so beautiful."

Her happy smile sobered a little then, her gaze becoming a little more serious as the moment lingered and they both slowly became aware of the significance of what they were on the cusp of. It wasn't just sex and it wasn't just his very first time. It was even more than that, and as he kissed her - slowly, sweetly, maybe even lovingly - things slowly began to heat back up.

They kissed, touched, and in time, rolled over so that she was on top of him. She sat on his hips, her hands on his chest and his now-painful arousal pressed to her belly, and he thought that he could lie there and stare up at her like that forever and be happy. Her red curls tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, her body already slick with sweat and her eyes focused fully upon him.

"Ready?" she asked with a small smile, leaning down to kiss him and letting her breasts drag sweetly along his chest.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He watched, holding his breath as she reached down between them and took him in her hand before raising her hips up. He didn't look away, watching greedily as she slowly guided him in, sinking down on him and slowly engulfing him with a tight, exquisite warmth that his imagination never could have _ever_ lived up to. It was even better than her mouth, better than any fantasy and anything he could have hoped for, and the way that she exhaled and rolled her hips once she was fully seated on him was nearly his undoing then and there.

He cursed and she moaned. He had an iron grip on her hips, trying to keep his head as she looked him right in the eyes and then began to move after she'd had a minute to adjust. She moved slowly, almost teasingly up and down, up and down, in and out and back and forth, building up a rhythm that felt like kept him just shy of losing his mind. He reached up and grasped her breasts in his hands, squeezing and teasing her nipples as she changed her angle slightly and closed her eyes as her pleasure grew. She started moving faster, just enough to _really_ get herself going, and Bucky was transfixed. He let his hands drop, watching as her breasts bounced gently with her movements, and then when she let her head fall back and let out a moan, he couldn't take it anymore. He sat up, grasped her tightly, and flipped them over, seizing the control that she happily ceded to him.

She had awakened something within him, something that had been sleeping until her touch brought it roaring to life. He kissed her furiously, taking her a little faster but with all the care and gentleness that he always handled her with, body slowly overwhelming with pleasure and the sensation of being so incredibly close to another person. She held him close, kissing his neck and jaw sweetly as he groaned and moved within her, moving with him just right so that it felt as good for her as it did for him. He could hardly think about that, or think about anything at all. All he could do was feel, and he felt _so_ much.

He felt her clench and tighten around him when her pleasure finally overcame her, and watching her face as she moaned his name and sunk her nails into his back was what pushed him over the edge. He groaned and dropped his face into her neck, biting where it met her shoulder and moaning into her skin as his end washed over him. It was perfect, as perfect as Vivian herself, all of it everything that he could have ever wanted and more. And the fact that he was sharing it with a woman that he cared so deeply for made it all the more special.

He breathed her in after, lying on top of her and feeling lighter, a little less dark and less burdened, like for once in his life he was truly _free_. It took him a few moments but eventually he raised his head and looked upon Vivian's face, his blue eyes taking in her green ones and her quiet, content, _pure_ beauty. She smiled at him, running her fingers through his ruffled hair, and it was as he smiled back at her that he knew in that moment that he loved her.

He loved her. He was in love with this woman, and when he was with her, nothing else mattered. What waited back at home for him didn't matter, his past deeds didn't matter, and there was no blood on his hands. It was all a million miles away, but _she_ was there, and he was in love with her.

He almost told her, but he didn't. Instead, he kissed her and then held her close for the rest of the night, not letting her out of his sight and eventually falling asleep tangled up with her. And it was the single best night of sleep he'd gotten since his initiation.

He had fallen in love. And he had fallen hard.

* * *

On the morning of September 11, 2001, Bucky was asleep in bed with Vivian, sleeping in on a day where his earliest class took place at noon. They were tangled up together, her back to his chest and his arm draped over her middle, her hair tickling his nose on occasion and making it twitch before he'd settle back down without having noticed. Everything was peaceful. Everything was fine.

Meanwhile, back home in New York, Steve was in class at his small art college, unaware that the day was different from any other. He was distracted, thinking about the job that he had to get to once his classes were over, then getting home in time to help his mom make dinner. But then that changed when the door to the classroom opened and one of the faculty looked at both the teacher and students with wide eyes and said, "Something's happening - turn on the TV!"

The television in the classroom didn't have a cable connection, so Steve and the others headed out to a small lounge sort of room where there was an area for students to eat and have coffee, plus a television that was always tuned to one of the local channels. As soon as it was turned on, Steve's heart fell into the pit of his stomach and his eyes went wide with shock.

All around him, the students and faculty began asking questions aloud that nobody present could answer - _what was happening, was this an accident, oh my God what if it isn't_ \- but then their questions were answered when they all watched on the live coverage as a second plane hitting the World Trade Center.

Steve didn't waste his time gaping at the horrific sight or gasping and panicking the way that the others were, though inside he was certainly doing all of those things. Instead, he rushed to the nearest phone and was the first to make a call to check that his loved ones were safe.

He only had one person to check on, now that Bucky was in Massachusetts. He called home, but there was no answer. He checked the time, and with a sinking pit of terror in his gut, he realized that his mother should have been on her way to work at the hospital when this had all happened.

He hung up and dialed the hospital, but all he got was a busy tone. Panic crawling up his throat, he dropped the phone into the cradle and didn't say a word to any of the others before rushing out of the building and into the streets.

* * *

Bucky woke up when Vivian's cell phone began to ring from her purse, which was on the floor next to the bed. It was an annoying sound and it was repeating incessantly, until Vivian finally sat up with a groan and disentangled herself from Bucky enough to lean down and grab the thing. He protested with a muffled noise of displeasure and tried to tug her back, kissing the back of her bare shoulder as she giggled and put the small, blockish Nokia up to her ear.

"Hello?"

He kept his eyes closed, running his hand over her side and then her stomach, then upwards as she paused.

"Mom? Slow down, I can't... _what_?"

Bucky opened his eyes when the tone of her voice changed from sleepy and slightly annoyed to serious and bewildered. He then sat up slightly as she tore herself away from him, grabbed the remote to the TV in his room, and then flipped it on as quickly as she could.

She didn't have to change the channel, because every single one was covering the same thing. As soon as Bucky saw the images and read the words on the bottom of the screen, his eyes widened and he all but catapulted himself out of bed and into the living room to grab his own phone.

He picked up the landline phone and dialed a series of numbers into it that he'd had memorized for so long that he didn't have to think about it. He didn't call Pierce first, even though he worked very close to the WTC and even occasionally attended meetings there. Instead he called Steve's apartment, because even though he didn't _think_ that either him or his mom would have been there, they were the two most precious people to him in the entire city and he had to make sure they were safe before anyone else.

Nobody answered. He dragged the phone and its wired cradle into his bedroom, where Vivian was still talking to her mother - who was thankfully safe, like her father - and he watched the news coverage as he continued to punch numbers into the phone with no result.

Finally he called Pierce. He called his office number to no avail, and then his own cell number, on the verge of severe panic.

"I'm safe," Pierce assured him once he answered. "But we're being evacuated right now. The city's under lockdown."

The relief of his almost-father figure being safe was a drop in the ocean compared to the panic he felt over Steve. "Can you find Steve and make sure he's safe? And his mom?"

"Bucky, that's not going to be possible. I -"

"Yes it is," Bucky argued. "You have hundreds of men who work for you and you could send _one_ out to find them."

"The city is _chaos_ right now," Pierce told him. "This is an _attack_ and it might not be over."

Bucky paused, his panic erupting inside into something that was impossible to control and utterly terrifying in how completely helpless and powerless it made him feel. If he was there, back home, then he could have just gone and found them himself, but he was not even close and his one hope of help was refusing to send even one man out to look for him.

"Please," Bucky muttered, resorting to begging. "I can't lose him, too."

There was silence on the other end, at least _mostly_ silence, as Bucky could hear sirens and voices over the slightly static line. And then finally Pierce spoke. "Fine."

Bucky closed his eyes in relief. "Thank you."

* * *

Muttering a curse under his breath, Pierce looked at the small security detail surrounding him as he and the legion of people who had been inside his building were evacuated. The sky above him was filling with black smoke, and the city was loud with the sounds of chaos and death. He looked towards the towers and watched with a stony expression as what looked like little specks fell from their heights. But they weren't specks. They were people, jumping to their deaths.

Pierce looked at one of the men accompanying him on his security team. He was tall, former military, reliable. He was also young and operated very well under pressure. He wasn't in the _inner circle_ yet, but Pierce had plans for him.

"Wilson."

The man, who had been staring at the towers in the distance with a quiet but clear look of horror, snapped his eyes to Pierce and replied immediately, "Yes sir?"

"I need you to find someone for me."

* * *

Steve was a wreck.

He was as close to the towers as he could get, which nearly close enough. He had found a familiar woman in the crowd of people being herded away from the scene, one of Sarah's fellow nurses. He'd rushed to her and asked her in a panic if she had seen his mother and if she knew anything.

"We were sharing a cab to work," she told him with horrible, sad, horrified eyes. "We saw the first plane hit and we stopped to try to help people get out. I lost her in there, I don't know where she went. I didn't see her come out."

The nurse had then been hustled away in the crowd, leaving Steve to stand there and try not to throw up. He could hardly breathe, the heavy smoke in the air wreaking havoc on his asthma, but he could hardly feel the tightness in his airway or the burn in his lungs. He felt nothing but horror as he looked up at the buildings, watching those in the top floors escape the only way that they could, falling to their deaths on the pavement below.

His mother was somewhere in the middle of all of that. And he couldn't save her.

* * *

Bucky waited by the phone, going out of his mind with worry as he watched the news. Vivian stayed by his side, a quiet support to him as he said no words and barely even moved. He just needed to _know_.

They both watched in silence as the first tower crumbled to the ground.

"Oh God," Vivian muttered.

Bucky didn't say a word. He watched the terrible scene unfold, listened to the news anchors express their horror, and all the while, all he could do was sit there and wait. He despised being powerless. He despised not being able to go and find his people and bring them to safety himself.

And the damn phone still wasn't ringing.

* * *

Steve watched the first tower crumble. His mother had been in that one, based off of what the nurse had said.

He didn't know if it was the asthma depriving him of oxygen or just the shock of it all or maybe both, but he lost consciousness on the sidewalk and cracked his head on the concrete. He didn't feel a thing.

* * *

Sam Wilson was close to giving up. Finding one "tiny, skinny blonde kid named Steve Rogers" in the middle of probably the most chaotic scene in American history was even harder than finding a needle in a haystack. He'd take that haystack over _this_ any day.

Once the towers collapsed, there was no getting near anything. People were emerging from the plumes of smoke covered in ash and God only knew what else, and Sam knew the ground search was pointless. He was never going to find this kid.

He stayed on the right side of the perimeter that first responders and cops had set, and he began trying different tactics. He asked around, checked with paramedics who were swamped and barely acknowledged him, and made phone calls on his cell phone that went nowhere. Nobody was finding anyone. It would likely take weeks to account for both the survivors and the dead.

He was about to turn around and head back to Pierce when he heard the sound of arguing coming from the back of an ambulance. He wouldn't have bothered to look had he not been passing by anyway, but he ended up being glad that he did.

"Sir, you could have a concussion and you need another breathing treatment before you -"

"People are dead! My mom is in there somewhere, I don't care if I have a concussion! Leave me alone!"

"If your mom is alive she'll be found and taken care of. There's nothing you can do to -"

Now in front of the back of the open ambulance, Sam glanced inside and wondered if he could have possibly gotten _that_ lucky. The patient who was arguing was tiny, skinny, and blonde, and he was bleeding from his head in two separate places. The medic got sick of his attitude and finally said _fine, you don't want my help, get out of my ambulance so I can give it to someone who does_ , and the kid scrambled out of the ambulance with his own salty response.

Once he was back on the street and on his feet, however, the kid seemed to get dizzy and almost hit the floor before he caught himself.

Sam decided what the hell. "Steve Rogers?"

Steve's head shot up and he looked around until he saw the unfamiliar man looking right at him. "Yeah?"

He really _had_ gotten that lucky. "I'm Sam Wilson. I work for Alexander Pierce. He sent me to look for you."

Steve blinked. "He did?"

Sam nodded and then handed Steve his cell phone. "And I was told to make sure you called his son as soon as I found you."

* * *

When Bucky's phone rang and he heard Steve's voice on the other line, a weight was lifted off of his shoulders and he let himself breathe for the first time since Vivian had turned on the TV.

"Steve, thank God," he said, eyes closed and dropping his head in sheer relief for a moment. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Steve replied. "I was in class when it happened and I came here as fast as I could but I -"

"Came _where_?" Bucky suddenly demanded, eyes narrowing.

Steve was silent for a moment, and Bucky had to repeat his question twice more before Steve answered.

"She was in there, Bucky," Steve said, tone dejected and miserable and shaky. "Mom was in there trying to help, and I don't think she made it out."

And just like that, the relief that Bucky had felt for Steve crumbled in horror for Sarah. "Oh _God_ , no."

"I can't even look for her," Steve said, barely keeping himself together. "What am I supposed to do? If she didn't make it out -"

"She _had_ to," Bucky replied, refusing to consider the alternative. "She _had_ to, Steve."

But they both knew that there was a very high chance that she had _not_. And the very worst part of it all was knowing that in a tragedy of _this_ magnitude, with deaths in the thousands and other attacks that had been coordinated and attempted in other cities, one lone missing woman might not be identified or _found_ for some time.

At least Steve was safe. Bucky held on to that and his relief that his best friend hadn't been caught up in the attacks, even if the thought of Steve's sweet mother being killed was unthinkable. They both just had to wait and hope.

* * *

Sam felt bad for the kid. He was so small, barely staying on his feet and barely breathing, and he was completely alone. Pierce hadn't asked him to stay with Steve, but he did anyway because it was the right thing to do.

He took Steve to one of the local hospitals despite his protests. The staff didn't see him for hours, being absolutely overrun and overwhelmed, but eventually a doctor briefly glanced at Steve and a student nurse and by and gave him another breathing treatment. Sam, meanwhile, made calls and did what he could to try and get some word on the status of Sarah Rogers. But he was unsuccessful.

"I'm sorry, man," Sam told Steve after he could breathe a little better and some of the color had returned to his previously deathly pale face. "I'm trying here."

"I know," Steve muttered, nodding. "Thank you. You don't have to do all of this. You don't even know me."

"No, but I know when someone needs some help," Sam replied.

Steve nodded, casting his eyes to the floor. "I don't know what to do."

"You take care of yourself," Sam replied. "Keep breathing. Keep going. They might still find her." He paused. "And I'll help you out 'til you know one way or the other."

Steve looked at the other man in surprise. "Thank you."

Sam nodded. He hoped that Steve's mother would turn up, maybe in a hospital with a few minor injuries but otherwise alive. He really did. But he couldn't help his gut feeling that it just wouldn't happen.

* * *

The remains of Sarah Rogers were identified two weeks later. It took that long for enough rubble to be sifted through to find some of the charred bodies underneath, and there was just enough left recognizable for Steve to positively identify her and then fall apart.

He had accepted that she was gone when she still hadn't turned up a week after the attacks .But _seeing_ her and knowing the truth, that she had died during the collapse of the first tower while trying to bring others to safety... it had hit him so hard that it caused a burst of physical, unbearable pain in his chest that lingered with him and would not fade away.

Bucky came home for the funeral. He stood by Steve's side during the ceremony and hugged him when he couldn't keep up the strong, stoic act any longer and needed a shoulder to cry on. Vivian was there too, and they all wished that she and Steve had been able to meet under different circumstances.

Sam showed up for support as well. Bucky thanked him sincerely for taking care of Steve in his absence, and Sam meant it when he said that it was no trouble at all.

It was at the end of the funeral, when Sarah had been laid to rest and it was only Bucky and Steve standing in front of the grave that Steve muttered resolutely, "I'm gonna join the army."

Bucky looked at his friend like he was crazy. The army wouldn't take an asthmatic kid who weighed 95 pounds on a good day. Steve had to know that. "Steve..."

Steve merely looked at Bucky with his blue eyes full of conviction and fierce resolve and repeated, "I'm gonna join the army."

Bucky clenched his jaw and bit his tongue. A lot of people were enlisting following the unprovoked terrorist attacks, and everybody was looking for someone to blame and paint as the enemy. It wasn't just one country or one leader like it had always been in the past, however, and that was what made it such a uniquely complicated and frightening situation. Knowing one's enemy could be half the battle, and without that knowledge, how did one know who to retaliate against?

But Bucky wouldn't argue with Steve on a day like this, during his mother's funeral. If he wanted to go and try to enlist later, then he'd find out the hard way that nobody would take him.

Quietly, the people who loved Sarah most paid their last respects to her. For Steve, he was losing the person who had loved him most and for the very longest, the one who had always supported him and encouraged him to be only who he was and nobody else. For Bucky, it was another piece of his childhood lost. She had been a second mother to him and now she was gone, just like his real mother, like his father, like his sister.

Nothing ever lasted. Everything always withered and died in time, and he always had to be there to witness it.

At his side, Vivian took Bucky's hand and gave it a soft squeeze. He looked at her and she gave him a sympathetic, understanding look as she said quietly, "I'm sorry."

He laid a kiss on the side of her head, in her hair, and then let out a sigh.

Life was cruel. The world was cruel. He knew these things better than he knew anything, and yet he still had not learned the full truth of how cruel it could truly be.

* * *

In the following days, Bucky returned to school and Steve dropped out. They each dealt with their grief by throwing themselves into their work, which for Bucky was school and for Steve was his mission to seek justice for what happened to his mother and several thousand other Americans.

Bucky found that Vivian was a soothing balm and for the first time since reaching adulthood, allowed himself to truly lean on another person. She was always there, always so incredibly supportive and loving even though the words hadn't been said just yet, and the pure and trusting way that she showed him her affection slowly began to build a sense of nagging guilt in the back of his mind.

He loved her so much, enough that it scared him a little, and yet he was hiding a huge part of his life from her every single day. He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't tell her, because he knew she'd run and he couldn't blame her. But what did that make him? A manipulative liar who didn't deserve the love of such a sweet, caring woman?

He shoved those thoughts away and tried not to let it affect him. Months passed and they only grew closer, even uttering those frightening little three words to one another in the heat of one night's particularly intense passion. He didn't know what it was, but there was something about that night that had them both holding each other a little more tightly, kissing a little more deeply and feeling everything on a level a little higher than usual. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and it was a lot like what Bucky imagined heaven was like, if the place was real.

He moved within her, hitting all the right places, a pro at it now and full of confidence after they'd had plenty of time to _practice_. She had her fingers buried in his hair at the back of his head, clutching it tightly, her other fingers biting her nails into his back as quiet but heavy moans escaped her pretty red lips. He gazed down on her face, her eyes closed and fiery hair spread out beneath her head, her body moving so perfectly and sweetly with his, and he never wanted to let her go. He could stay like that forever and be perfectly happy, and he knew this beyond a doubt.

Then her eyes opened, the vibrant green a thin ring around dilated pupils, and when her hand left his hair to touch his cheek, his rhythm slowed by just a fraction. He looked deep into her eyes, feeling like he could get lost there, and he was shocked to watch her eyes grow watery, almost as if she were about to cry. But instead she leaned up and kissed him softly, her lips a soft caress on his before she pulled away and told him in a quiet, sweet voice, "I love you."

Her words took him by great surprise, and it showed on his face. His brows shot up a little bit, and the smile that spread across his face was the sweetest and most innocent one she'd ever seen from him. It made her smile back wide and full of love as he then replied just as quietly, "I love you too."

Then he kissed her, and for one moment in time, everything was perfect. He had everything he needed, and though he had lost much, some very recently, he was happy. He was in love, so much more deeply than he had been months ago, and the feeling of being openly loved in return was _life-changing_.

Maybe his future wasn't so dim after all.

* * *

After an embarrassingly high number of failed and slightly illegal attempts on Steve's part, he finally came to realize that no amount of convincing or pleading on his part would earn him a spot in any division of the American armed forces. Heart alone could only get him so far, and it was as he walked out of the latest recruiting center that he finally came to terms with this.

He'd never felt more lost. He didn't want to go back to school. He didn't want to go back to his meaningless job and just scrape by doing something he didn't care about. He wanted to do something that mattered. He wanted to be an advocate for the innocent, someone who could help protect people like his mother from the kinds of people who had murdered her in cold blood. He wanted to make a difference.

But he couldn't. He sat down at the nearest bus stop, paying no mind to the dark figure already sitting on the other end of the bench, reading a newspaper.

"Don't tell me you're giving up after what... only four tries. Or was this five?"

Steve looked over at the man in confusion. "Excuse me?"

The man dropped the newspaper, and Steve wasn't quite sure what to make of the all-black clothes and the eye-patch he was sporting over a scarred left eye. "I thought you'd be a little more persistent and not so quick to give up."

Steve was starting to get a mild case of the creeps. "Look, I don't know you, so -"

"Yeah, but you will," the man said matter of factly, setting the newspaper aside and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Let me ask you something. Do you want to go kill some Arabs?"

"No," Steve immediately replied. "I don't want to kill anyone. And Arabs aren't the problem. It's bullies, no matter _who_ they are."

"That's what I thought you'd say," the man replied. "Good answer. I'm Nick Fury. I work with SHIELD."

"Who?" Steve immediately asked, having never heard of such a place.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," Fury explained. "We make it a point that you _don't_ hear about us."

"And what do you want with me?" Steve asked, ever quick to get to the point.

"Well," Fury began, "we're on the brink of war. Have been for awhile. We just finally got forced on to the playing field, kind of like back when Pearl Harbor happened. And just like back then, there's a rush of angry young men signing up to serve their country. But some of them - in my estimation - might be better off being a _different_ kind of soldier."

Steve, putting two and two together, asked, "Like a spy?"

"It's a lot more complicated than that," Fury replied. "And I'll tell you right now that there are more threats to security right here on our own soil than you could ever imagine. Everybody's looking at Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, and yeah, there's threats there. But if somebody's not keeping an eye on the homefront, it's just as dangerous as ignoring foreign threats. And at SHIELD, we keep an eye on both."

Steve stared for a moment. "But why would you want _me_? Nobody else does."

"That's because I'm not necessarily looking for the same things as an Army recruiter. And I've been doing this for awhile. Recruiting. I'm pretty damn good at it."

The man then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, then handed it to Steve. "Think about it. And when you decide you want to give it a shot, give me a call."

Fury then stood up from the bench and walked away, crossing the street as Steve looked down at the card in great confusion. He wasn't sure whether to be flattered or scared, creeped out or excited. By the time he looked back up, Fury had all but vanished.

He turned the card over in his hand, mulling over his choices. In the end, however, he always knew what he was going to choose, from the moment that Fury had handed him that card.

He called the number the following morning. Within the week, he was the latest - and smallest - SHIELD recruit.

* * *

Bucky and Vivian's first anniversary snuck up on them rather quickly, both of them feeling like the time had flown by in the blink of an eye. They were always so busy, never short of other obligations and places to be and things to do, but they were each the calm in one another's storm and they simply _worked_.

They rarely fought. Everything seemed almost _too_ good, and once that first year passed, they started to wonder if their luck was going to run out. Nobody they knew had relationships that easy, so how could they?

Bucky kept a lot to himself, but Vivian understood that he had led a difficult life and had his reasons for not wanting to open up about certain things. Similarly, Vivian was reluctant to talk about the future or any commitments set in stone thanks to the nature of her chosen future profession, and he understood that. They understood one another's reasons for feeling and behaving certain ways, and rarely did they stray from that.

But the time did come, two months into their second year together, that Vivian began to press for answers that he refused to give. It came on a day like any other, on a cold day at the start of an early winter, when Vivian headed to his closet to grab one of his hoodies while he was in the shower. He kept his apartment cool, too cool for her tastes, but his hoodies were roomy and warm and perfect for cocooning her much smaller self into.

When she didn't find the particular hoodie that she wanted in his closet, she moved on to his dresser and started looking around in the drawers. It was by complete chance that she happened to feel around in the wrong drawer and ended up finding a _gun_ in there, buried in the back under a pile of old shirts.

She pulled the gun out and looked at it in confusion, unsure of what to think of it. Bucky walked out of his bathroom following his shower half-dressed and found her like that, standing in front of his dresser and holding his gun while eyeing him strangely.

"Why do you have this hidden under your clothes?" she asked as he quickly walked over and took the weapon from her, expression unreadable.

He shoved it back where it belonged and replied, "It's just for protection. It's not a big deal."

"I didn't say it was," she said, watching him close the drawer with an almost angry thud. "But why would you need _protection_?"

Bucky shrugged, mind racing a mile a minute to come up with a good lie, a decent cover, anything to resolve this moment and make it never come up again. "My... the man who raised me is very rich and... powerful, and he just wants me to keep a weapon just in case."

"Just in case of... like a hostage situation or something, kidnapping?" she asked, trying hard to make sense of it.

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Things like that."

"Oh. Okay. I was just curious."

He didn't say another word about it then, looking at her blankly before grabbing a shirt out of one of the drawers and pointedly changing the subject to what she wanted to do for dinner. It wasn't the gun that really concerned her, but rather the slightly defensive way that he'd acted when she had asked him about it.

But _that_ incident was nothing compared to what occurred a few weeks later, at a party thrown by their friends that was crowded and _very_ full of people. Everything was loud and not the typical sort of thing either of them would have liked, but it had been ages since their last party and they were both in the mood to drink and have fun.

Everything was fine at first, Bucky and Vivian both having a few drinks and hanging out with the friends present whom they liked the most. Bucky loved hearing her laugh and watching her have fun, so in her element around people and a light to every room that she graced. He was proud to call her his girlfriend, and he knew that he was the envy of quite a few guys there - including a certain one named Brent, whom Vivian had shared a whole two dates with before Bucky had come along. He was talking to a few people who were not in their circle, occasionally casting glances their way and getting very drunk very quickly. Bucky might have felt pity for the guy if he gave half a damn, but he didn't.

Then, about halfway through the party, Bucky left Vivian's side for no longer than five minutes to get them both refills. He was briefly distracted by a short conversation with one of the guys from his economics class, and then when he made his way back to Vivian, he saw immediately saw red. Brent was there, talking to her and invading her personal space, and by the looks of it, she was _hating_ it.

Bucky shoved both drinks in the hand of a random girl that he walked by on way to tell the loser to back the hell off. That was all he was going to do at first, but then the idiot grabbed Vivian's arm when she tried to get away from him.

"Come on, baby," the guy said as she tried to peel his hand off of her. "Sing for me. Just once?"

"You're hurting me, you fucking id-"

Before she could properly finish insulting him, Bucky was there and had pushed the guy off of her with one strong shove to his chest. She held her wrist as Bucky stood between her and Brent, immediately snapping, "The fuck's wrong with you? Stay the hell off of her."

Brent just stared at Bucky, nearly falling backwards as he stumbled back. Then once he steadied himself, he sudden burst out into laughter. "Oh sorr- _y_ , my bad. God forbid I talk to one of my old friends, right? Here comes the _big bad_ boyfriend to the rescue."

Bucky almost rolled his eyes. He didn't have the time nor the patience for this. "Just stay away from her."

"Sure, she's all yours, pal," Brent said, gesturing sloppily with his hands. "Nothing but a big fucking tease anyway."

Bucky kept quiet, though his glare hardened as Vivian tugged at his arm to get him to walk away. He stayed where he was, watching the other man carefully.

"No, no, it's true!" Brent told the others nearby, though none of them were really listening. He was loud and slurring as he went on, " _Everybody_ knows it. And she's only even here in the first place because her daddy fucking made a donation to the drama department."

"Come on, Bucky," Vivian muttered, and this time Bucky relented and turned away from the idiot, before he did something he might regret.

And then Brent just had to open his mouth one more time. " _Come on, Bucky,"_ he said in a mock high pitch. "Fucking coward. And here I thought you'd try to defend that bitch's honor or something."

Bucky stopped walking. Vivian looked up at him in alarm, her eyes pleading with him to just let it go, but he ignored her. His jaw tightened and his eyes went from annoyed but calm to terrifyingly blank, and the moment it happened, Vivian's own worried expression became one of fear. Bucky let go of her and then turned back around, eyes chilling and _murderous_.

He reached the Brent in only two long, purposeful strides. Brent barely had time to even look up as Bucky then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and didn't even blink before throwing a merciless, precisely aimed and _brutal_ punch to Brent's throat.

Vivian gasped and everybody in their immediate proximity did too as Brent dropped to the floor, eyes huge and hands clawing at his throat. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and was probably pretty sure during those terrifying moments that he was going to die, and that was exactly what Bucky had been aiming for. Thinking nothing of the people around them or what the consequences might be, he then pushed the red-faced and struggling Brent fully to his back on the floor and held him there with his foot as he leaned down over him, not quite done with him yet.

Brent stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, hands still grabbing at his throat and trying to gasp for air. Bucky simply looked at him in disgust and then, unable to help himself, taunted mockingly _sing for me, baby_ before knocking him unconscious with a single punch to his head.

When Bucky then stood up and looked at Vivian to find a look of horror on her face as she stared at him wide-eyed, he furrowed his brows in confusion. Then he realized that everyone in the room had fallen completely silent and that most of them were getting away from them both as quickly as possible.

He reached for Vivian, saying her name and then freezing when she actually took a step away from him. He gave her a hurt, confused look, and she quickly looked away and got the hell out of the place. He followed her, leaving Brent on the floor for his friends to peel off later.

She took off down the street, walking as fast as she could in her heels and ignoring his calls after her. But he caught up to her quickly, gently taking her arm, and she turned around with a huff and demanded, " _What_?"

He stared at her in bewilderment. "Vivian, what the hell? Why are you acting like this?"

"Um, maybe because you went from your normal self in there to a... vacant-eyed crazy person just because someone touched me and called me a few stupid names?"

He couldn't believe this. "He was hurting you, he..." He grabbed her other arm and showed her the bruises forming thanks to Brent's drunken grip. "You've got bruises because of him. I was just -"

"Yeah, I know, but you didn't see your face," she replied. "You looked like you could have killed him and not even blinked, and it definitely didn't seem like the first time you've done that kind of thing to someone." She then paused and asked with a pained edge to her voice, "What the hell _are_ you?"

Even while he panicked on the inside, on the outside he tried to stay cool. "Come on, Viv, you know me. You _know_ me. What else was I supposed to do?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I don't know a lot of things. I don't know hardly _anything_ about you, you know that?"

His panic was growing, making him feel shaky, desperate, terrified. " _Yes you do_."

"Then tell me where you learned how to do that."

Bucky paused, his mask slipping just long enough for Vivian to know that the truth really _was_ that bad. But he quickly covered it up.

"I was taught how to fight for the same reason why I've got a gun," he replied smoothly. "My family has enemies, and -"

"Yeah, but that's bullshit and you know it," she replied. "My parents are rich too, you know. They're 'powerful'. Lots of people would like to take what we have, but they've never given me a gun or told me that I need to learn the art of throat punching."

He clenched his jaw and said, "Maybe they should."

She looked at him incredulously and then closed her eyes, muttering, "You know what... I need to get back to my dorm."

"Vivian, wait, please..."

She shook her head and turned around. "No. No, I'm not gonna wait. I need to think. Leave me alone, okay?"

"Can you at least let me call you a cab?"

She held out her cell phone pointedly, not bothering to look back. Bucky sighed and let her go, feeling like a complete idiot.

He just hadn't been able to help it. Seeing Brent touching her like that, hurting her and harassing her when she was clearly trying to make him leave her alone, then insulting her in front of their friends to boot... he'd snapped like a twig. And it had felt so damn _good_ that Vivian's aghast reaction had been the very last thing that he'd expected.

He was a fool. And now he had to drag himself home and hope against hope that he hadn't screwed things up and that she wouldn't catch on to the truth that he'd done his best to keep hidden from her.

* * *

Just like she had asked him to, Bucky gave Vivian her space to think over the next few days. He found that he was anxious and impatient, wanting to just know one way or the other what was going to happen. Since he didn't feel as if he could really talk to Steve about it, even though Steve had probably figured everything out on his own anyway, Bucky decided to give Lukas a call and ask him what the hell to do about it all.

"If you are truly this serious about her, then she _will_ know one day - it's unavoidable," Lukas told him. "You just have to decide if you can trust her with the truth."

Open textbooks in front of him on his desk from when he tried and gave up working on an assignment, Bucky sighed and muttered, "I just think she'd be horrified and run the other way."

"Then you're doomed regardless," Lukas replied. "But keep in mind that when it comes to _any_ of us being married or being committed to _anyone_ , the decision is not entirely up to us. It's bringing someone into our lives and our secrets - you cannot just meet some lovely girl at a psych lecture and expect to marry her and everything be sunshine and roses."

"I know, I know, it's just -"

" _Do_ you know?" Lukas challenged, and Bucky fell silent. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he'd been fooling himself his entire time with Vivian, torturing himself with something that could never last. But then again... maybe once she'd had her time to think, maybe... just maybe... everything might turn out the way that he so foolishly hoped that it would.

Towards the end of the week, Vivian finally called Bucky and told him that she wanted to come over for awhile and talk. He knew that it could be either a good thing or a bad thing, but he was relieved that at least he'd know one way or the other very soon.

He waited impatiently all day, watching the clock wind down to the appointed hour. When it finally arrived around eight o'clock, her knock at his door came right on time, and he jumped up and rushed to the door so fast he almost knocked half of his furniture over on the way there.

He opened the door and there she was, dressed warmly and smiling with her hands in her coat pockets, nothing in her expression or demeanor giving away how she felt or how the night was going to go. She kissed him back when he softly kissed her to greet her, and he thought that was a good sign. He hoped, anyway.

They ended up on his couch, and their talk lasted a few hours. It began simply enough, lulling Bucky into a false sense of security before Vivian steered the conversation into more serious, dangerous territory. And the hope that he'd been holding on to for nearly the last week was slowly crushed and turned to dust.

She wanted him to be open with her. She wanted to know his story, the good and the bad and the worse, and she wanted no secrets between them. She wasn't stupid, and she knew him well enough after 14 months together to know when he was hiding something from her. And he was hiding a lot.

But he couldn't tell her what he was hiding. It was as much for her safety as it was for the safety of everyone in his "family", and even if he _did_ tell her everything... it would only serve to alienate her and make her see him as a monster.

But maybe that was what he truly was.

"See, this is what I'm talking about," she said after they'd gone around and around the same points enough times to make them both dizzy and incredibly frustrated. "You keep giving me these same vague explanations and _I'm not stupid_ , Bucky."

"I know you aren't, but -"

"So just tell me! How bad can it be?"

Bucky paused and dropped his eyes from hers, unable to look her in the eye and lie anymore. She watched him in quiet horror, her mind running wild with possibilities, even though really... putting all of it together, from the unexplained tattoo on his chest to the occasional utterances of flawless Russian when he was raised in Brooklyn by two Americans, to the weapons in his apartment and the shockingly precise and brutal fighting skills... it wasn't too hard to reach a conclusion.

"It's bad," she said quietly. "Isn't it? Your family, your... father, guardian, whatever. They're..."

His eyes flashed up to hers and he shook his head before muttering almost warningly, "Don't. Vivian, don't."

The alarm that lit behind her eyes made him instantly regret his words, but he couldn't take them back. She looked away, taking a breath and shaking her head. "I can't... I can't do this. I really can't."

Immediately, he tried to backtrack. "Vivian, wait, I just meant -"

She shook her head again and stood up. "No, you know what? That's exactly what I'm talking about. 99% of the time you're completely normal and everything's fine, but then something like this comes up and then you get this look in your eyes and I swear, Bucky, it scares the hell out of me."

He stood up too, his eyes pleading and her words sending a streak of guilt through his heart. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to do that, I _promise_ you I don't."

"Then why do you do it?" she asked, gesturing impatiently with her hands. "How can you be so sweet and so amazing and so _scary_ at the same time?"

 _Because I've been trained to fight and kill and I_ have _killed before and I've been pretending this entire time that I'm worthy of being with someone as perfect as you_. As close as those words were to tumbling from his lips, he managed to stay silent and not say a word. He was afraid to speak, afraid to say anything, but unfortunately his silence spoke louder than any words could have in that moment.

Vivian dropped her hands at her sides, her eyes shining with tears that were threatening to form. Resignation and sadness descended upon her features and she said quietly, "I can't do this."

He reached for her. "Vivian..."

She pushed his hands away, standing her ground. "No, I mean it this time. I can't do this back and forth thing and I can't be with someone who scares me and won't tell me the truth."

The finality of her words stuck him right in the heart, sending him into a panic as he watched her turn and grab her purse from the chair that it was sitting in. She slipped it on to her shoulder and then turned to head towards the door, but he couldn't let her leave like that.

He rushed after her and gently grabbed her arm and turned her around just before she reached the door. When she turned and looked up at him, the sight of tears falling from her eyes made the pain in his chest increase tenfold.

"Viv, please, don't do this," he begged her, cupping her face with both hands and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. "Come on... just... just give me some time, okay? Let me sort through some stuff and just... figure it out, and I swear I'll tell you everything."

She looked up at him, her desire to agree to that evident in the longing in her eyes, but she shook her head and replied, " _No_."

She pulled his hands away from her face, and he stared at her in both shock and denial. "But... I _love_ you, Vivian. We can get through this, we can -"

"Honestly," she said as more tears fell, "I really don't think I can. Because if the truth is half as bad as what I think it might be, Bucky, I can't do it. I can't."

And there it was - the truth, laid out in plain English, and it was everything that he had been afraid of brought to life.

"I love you," she said through the tears, somehow managing to still look so incredibly beautiful as she cried, "but I can't be a part of... _that_. And it breaks my heart to think that you are, but I just..."

He cupped her face again, desperation taking hold as he tried to think of anything he could to make her stay. "Damn it, _please_ , _stop_ , Vivian, just... fuck, don't do this. I'm begging you. I'll do anything you want, I'll -"

"I want you to let me go," she told him. "Please."

There was a tear on his own cheek now, but he was too devastated to notice. As a last ditch effort, he kissed her. It was soft but desperate and painful and horrible, and it hurt them both.

She broke away with a soft gasp that was more of a sob than anything, pushing him away. " _Stop_. You're only making this worse."

"I love you," he told her, thumb tracing her cheek and forehead leaning on hers, as if those words could somehow change her mind.

"I love you too," she half-whispered. Only a few more seconds passed before she pulled away from him, this time for good. She clutched the strap of her purse and put more space between them, wiping at her eyes as she said, "I have to go. I can't... I just have to go."

She grabbed the doorknob, turning away from him, and he pled with her one last time. "Please don't do this."

She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, her pain evident on her face as she muttered, "Goodbye." Then she walked out of the door, and out of his life.

He stared at the door long after it had closed, his eyes wide and almost child-like in how shocked and unbearably sad they were. He was crying and he wasn't even aware of it, trying to cling to denial and non-existent hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd change her mind and come back and they could start again.

But she never did come back. He ended up half-collapsing on his couch, vision blurry from the tears streaming down his face, staring forward into space and not knowing what the hell to do. This wasn't supposed to happen. They loved each other, he _knew_ they did, and things had been so good for so long. How could it end like this?

The answer was simple. It had ended because of him. She was scared of him. He was a monster and she had fled at the first scratch of the surface of all that he couldn't tell her.

It was all his fault. He was a fool for ever thinking that a woman like her could truly ever love a man like him.

* * *

Driving home to the dorms in her car, Vivian was a wreck. She'd nearly stopped to turn around and go back three times, wanting to take back everything she'd said and tell Bucky that maybe they could make it work, maybe all they needed was some time to get it all together. But she kept driving, because despite what her heart was telling her to do, her head was telling her to keep moving and not look back.

She wiped at her eyes as she slowed to a stop at a red light at a mostly empty intersection. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop the ache in her heart or the flash of Bucky's devastated face constantly replaying in her mind. How had they gotten to this point, where she had broken his heart and now had to live with the pain of knowing what she'd done for the rest of her life?

She'd never loved anyone like she loved Bucky. He had touched her in so many ways, made her feel things she'd never felt before, and she had thought that they would have a bright, boundless future ahead of them. She never expected it to all fall apart, and certainly not for the reasons that it had.

But she had made the right decision. She knew that. She knew her limits and no matter how much she loved him, she couldn't be a part of what his life was going to become someday. Even love had its limits.

The light turned green, and she swiped her fingers under her eyes one more time before gently pressing on the gas. She drove through the intersection, not seeing the truck flying directly at her straight through a red light to the left, going fifteen miles over the speed limit and showing no signs of stopping.

Her peripheral vision only caught the truck's headlights when it was too late. She felt a horror and panic like she'd never felt before, able to do nothing but simply sit there and watch as the truck slammed into her side of the car, smashing the driver's side door with a sickening, deafening crunch of chrome.

It was in that surreal, terrible moment that a rush of faces flashed through her mind. It was not the cliched "life flashing before your eyes" that movies and people liked to refer to, but rather a mournfully clear, rapid glimpse of all of the faces of those whom she had loved the most in her nearly twenty years on the planet. And it all happened in a fraction of a second almost too small to quantify.

She saw her mother, her father, her grandparents, friends from home whom she had grown up with and been like a sister to. The last face that she saw was the face of a man who she had fallen deeply in love with just over a year ago, the same man whose heart she had crushed just a number of moments earlier. She saw him happy and smiling, the way that he had always looked when things had been good and everything had been right with the world and right with them.

His blue eyes were the last thing she saw before everything went black, without a single trace of pain anywhere to be found anywhere on her body despite the severe impact.

The truck mangled the entire front end of her car before sending it off spinning across the road. Her car hit a median and flipped several times before landing upside down some yards away in the middle of the street, while the truck crashed into a pole.

Eerie silence fell on the street in the aftermath, until another car approached and saw the wreckage. The truck driver was unconscious with his face buried in his deployed airbag, and Vivian was hanging upside down, secured by her seat belt as blood dripped from her skull to the roof of her car.

Her eyes were open, but her gaze was fixed upon nothing. The light had gone from her, and even as sirens screeched and paramedics rushed to her location, it was already too late. She had died with tears in her eyes, though not a single one had been shed for herself.

* * *

When the phone rang several hours later, Bucky thought it was Lukas or Steve checking in to see how the "big talk" had gone. He didn't expect to hear the voice of a nurse on the other end of the line, asking him if his name was Bucky.

Vivian's Nokia had listed three numbers to call in case of emergency - her mom, her dad, and her boyfriend. The nurse had called the numbers in that order, but her voice was no less sympathetic or tactful now that she was repeating the information for the third time.

The moment the words crawled through Bucky's ears and seared themselves into his eternal memory - _she was in a terrible car accident, and we did everything we could to help her but she was killed instantly_ \- something in Bucky shattered and broke into an irreparable, unspeakable mess. The phone slipped from his hands, his already broken heart unable to withstand it.

He'd felt grief before, a lot of it. He knew what heartbreak felt like now too, as of a few hours earlier. But _this_... this could simply not possibly be true. It was not real. It _wasn't_ real.

Everyone had their limit of what they were capable of handling, when everything simply became too much and the mind would resort to self-preservation instincts in order to keep the body functioning and out of a catatonic state. For Bucky, who had already lost everything once in his life, this was that moment. He thanked the nurse numbly, agreed to come and identify Vivian's body since her parents were on their way but hours from arrival, and then he stood up and walked out of his apartment in a mindless, broken daze.

* * *

At the hospital, he was brought to the morgue down on the basement floor of the building. A nice, quietly sympathetic doctor led him to where Vivian's body laid under a thin white sheet, and Bucky didn't take a deep breath or otherwise try to prepare himself before they drew the sheet down to reveal her face. He was sleepwalking, as dead inside as the woman laying lifelessly on that cold table in front of him.

When his eyes fell upon her face, it was a stab to his numb, unfeeling state. For a moment, all of that fell apart and he felt like his heart had been punctured by a dull axe.

Her eyes were closed, and her deathly pale face was beautiful and almost untouched. They told him that she'd suffered a massive skull fracture, but it hadn't caused even a blemish on her face. She looked peaceful, serene, everything that Bucky would never be again.

He stared at her blue lips, lips that he had kissed just hours earlier, and words could not describe the depth of his pain. Not saying a word, he merely nodded to the doctor and the nurse who was assisting him, and then he turned around and got the hell out of that room as quickly as he could.

He made it to the hallway before he fell apart, self-preservation shot to hell as the shock and denial faded to something far worse. He was hardly aware that he was having the greatest breakdown of his life in the middle of a hospital hallway, just across from a nurse's station, until one of the nurses was suddenly at his side and doing her best to comfort him.

She offered him a handkerchief, water, and words that made no sense to him as she steered him into a private waiting room, where he could lose his mind in peace. Once he was settled into a chair, she asked him if there was anyone that she could call for him. He didn't remember answering her, but he must have because Steve was calling him just moments later, equally horrified.

It was a night that would define his life for years to come. It was also one that he would never forget, no matter what lengths he went to just to try.

* * *

Vivian's shocked and grief-stricken parents treated Bucky like a son during the days that followed. They knew nothing of the breakup nor of the reasons why it had happened, and Bucky would never tell them. Better, he thought, that they believe that she died happy and in love, regardless of the truth.

Vivian's funeral was a beautiful, crowded affair. The entire university mourned her loss, her family and friends and teachers paying tribute to the talented girl who would have one day had her name in lights had her life not been cut short. They remembered her as she truly was, a girl who could light up a room with her eyes and touch hearts with the sound of her voice, and Bucky knew she deserved every word and even more.

Lukas came with Thor, and so did Steve. Pierce didn't come, but he sent the most extravagant flower arrangement present. But Bucky had all the support he needed in his three friends, even if none of them could do a damn thing to make him feel any better.

Though that might not have been entirely true, he thought after he'd said his final goodbyes to the woman that he had loved.

The driver of the truck that had slammed into Vivian's car and killed her had been very drunk at the time of the accident, and his injuries had been severe enough for doctors to induce a coma upon his initial admittance. Bucky had been keeping tabs on the man's condition through not entirely honest methods, and he had learned that the man had been brought out of the coma after three days. He had been in and out of surgery the whole time, but they expected him to survive and, once he was recovered, face charges.

But that wasn't good enough.

After Vivian's funeral had come to an end, people were slowly dispersing and leaving the grounds of the massive church that the event had taken place at. Steve and Thor were talking amongst themselves, keeping their distance and giving Bucky a moment alone in front of the fresh grave that his love was newly buried in.

But Lukas didn't think he needed time alone. He walked up to Bucky, standing at his side silently, waiting for Bucky to speak first. And he did.

"I need your help," Bucky said, not taking his eyes off of the grave. Lukas looked at him as he added, "I can't ask anyone else and I can't do it on my own. Least not without getting caught." He muttered the last sentence especially miserably, barely caring about getting caught or not at this point.

Lukas didn't ask what Bucky was up to or immediately display suspicion, because he already knew. He knew because had he been in Bucky's shoes, he would have been planning the very same thing. They were rather alike that way. "What do you need?"

The answer was simple. _Revenge_.

* * *

A few days later, Bucky walked through the halls of the Intensive Care Unit at the same hospital that Vivian had been taken to after the accident. This time, however, he was not there as a grieving boyfriend. He was instead dressed in scrubs and pushing a cart of linens like any other good orderly would do, towards the room of the man who had robbed Vivian of her bright future.

Being under criminal investigation, a cop was posted to keep watch over the man. But seeing as he was sedated most of the time and clearly not going anywhere, the cop would often wander off and strike up conversations with the staff or take long coffee breaks with his fellow officers whenever they would drop by on unrelated business. He was currently a couple floors down, making this Bucky's perfect opportunity.

Lukas had seen to the problem of security cameras, so that was not a concern as Bucky strolled casually into the driver's room and glanced over his shoulder to make sure the nurses were distracted. They were, so he went about his business without a second thought.

Leaving the door open behind him as most orderlies would, Bucky glared at the man laying unconscious in the hospital bed and felt his skin start to tingle with a sick, heavy anticipation. A syringe lying in the pocket of his scrub shirt felt as if it weighed twenty pounds, but he ignored it as he stepped closer to the bed, never taking his eyes off of the man.

His name was Adam Brown, and he was ten years older than Bucky. He didn't have much in the way of family, and the truck that he'd been driving that fateful night had been stolen. Bucky knew, however, that even if the man had been a father and a husband and otherwise upstanding citizen who had just made one mistake in driving drunk with no prior criminal history, his actions would have been the same.

Reminding himself that he had to move quickly, Bucky left the cart of linens and moved to stand by Brown's beside, reaching into his scrub pocket to retrieve the syringe with a latex-gloved hand. He glanced at the monitors, at the rhythmic heartbeat and oxygen levels confirming that the man was alive and stable while Vivian was gone, and then he looked back at the man himself.

His head was wrapped up in thick layers of gauze, and his arm was in a cast. His face was greatly bruised, and three different kinds of IV medicines were flowing into his veins. Bucky located the IV port, reaching out and running his fingers up the tube until he found what he needed.

That anticipatory, pleasantly anxious feeling growing, Bucky popped the top off of the syringe and wasted no time in inserting it into the IV. He then injected the cocktail straight into the man's veins before pulling the syringe back out, replacing the top, and sticking it back into his pocket.

Ten seconds went by while Bucky patiently waited for Brown's eyes to pop open. Once they did, opening wide and fixing on the ceiling while he began to gasp for air, Bucky leaned down and covered his mouth with his hand, looking him calmly in the eyes as he began to speak.

"You killed the woman I love," Bucky said, the monitors starting to beep more insistently as the medicine began to take full effect. "And now you're gonna die too."

His eyes were wide with terror and panic, just as Bucky imagined Vivian's had been during the crash. Bucky didn't just enjoy watching the man slowly die and choke to death as his heart was forced to a stop by what he'd been injected with - he _relished_ it, and for those disturbingly perfect moments, Bucky felt no pain. It numbed him, temporarily taking away his grief and replacing it with absolutely _nothing_. And feeling nothing was so much better than feeling _anything_.

The man closed his eyes at just the perfect moment. Bucky removed his hand and got away just in time before nurses came rushing into the room with their eyes glued to the monitors and the patient. One of them yelled at Bucky to get the damn linen cart out of the room, but otherwise they paid him no mind as he calmly walked away from his second act of murder. Unlike the first one, however, this one had been fully his choice, and it left him feeling alive for the first time since he had gotten the call about Vivian's death.

He slipped out of the hospital undetected. Adam Brown's death was attributed to his extensive injuries and the strain that they had placed on his heart. The drugs that had killed him were untraceable, and there was never any reason to suspect that the death was from anything but natural causes.

But Bucky's brief, almost euphoric high faded far more quickly than he would have liked. Before the day had come to an end, the numbness had gone and the pain was back, haunting his every thought and filling his fractured heart with every breath he took. He couldn't handle it, couldn't focus, couldn't keep living that way. He _couldn't_.

He had to stop _feeling_. He saw no other choice.

* * *

Soon after taking his revenge, Bucky got a second tattoo in Vivian's memory inked permanently on his body. A Phoenix rested on his right side, next to his chest, the symbolism of death and rebirth a constant tribute to his first love that he would wear forever. He barely felt the sting of the needle as it etched the mythical bird into his skin, just as he barely felt anything anymore.

Life went on without Vivian. His grief didn't leave and neither did his anger or despair, but he bottled it all up and kept every discernible emotion locked away where even he couldn't access it. He went to his classes and studied and continued to earn stellar grades, but he never went to another party. He didn't go on another date or so much as even mentally entertain the thought of ever touching a woman again. He barely talked to anyone, including Steve or Lukas. He closed himself off, shut down the very idea of living versus simply existing, and that was how he survived and kept functioning under the weight of his crushed heart making each breath he took utterly excruciating.

Little more than a shell of himself, he finished college and earned his degree in business management. Rather than go on to Harvard Business School next as he had originally planned, he then returned home to New York and told Pierce that he was ready to earn his keep. He wanted to be a member of the Bratva not just in name only, but also in action.

Put simply, he wanted to hurt people who deserved to be hurt. He wanted to break their bones and watch as he made them bleed, and he wanted to savor the sickening numb that enveloped his entire being when he took a life with his hands. It was better than hurting himself and drifting through each day like a useless nomad, fighting to keep his mind from flashing to memories that hurt more than a blade six inches deep in his chest would. And what difference did it make if he killed them or not? They would die anyway, if not at his hands then someone else's.

Pierce understood the request and the reasons behind it, and he granted it. Bucky had finally and unequivocally embraced his role in the organization, and if it took such a dark, terrible tragedy to make that happen... well, Pierce thought it was only for the best then that Vivian had met an untimely demise.

Bucky began to accompany higher ranking and more experienced men out on missions and sating his violent thirst, the relief always temporary but worth it. It was also during this time that he spoke to Steve less than he ever had since he had met him as a child, due to Steve's own extensive training in Washington D.C.. SHIELD was exceedingly secretive, and as Steve worked his way up from rookie recruit to something more, he was all but sequestered from the world. He didn't know what Bucky was doing, and Bucky didn't know what Steve was doing.

Without Steve and his voice on the phone every week, it was easier for Bucky to keep his emotions and very humanity locked far away where those things couldn't interfere with his duties. Without a connection to his family, to his old life and all of the people that he had lost, it was all too easy to become what he was perhaps always destined to be - a faithful and committed soldier who never gave up and never questioned orders, no matter how violent or inhumane.

Bucky made a name for himself as he got his hands dirty on mission after mission. He took the jobs nobody else wanted, did the things that made even the most hardened among them pause for the sheer brutality of it, and he found that he was very, very good at his job. Whether it was killing someone with one strategic plunge of his knife or torturing someone until they sang like a bird, he was efficient and he didn't so much as blink before he acted. The cold precision and undying loyalty and commitment that he displayed prompted Pierce to bestow upon him the moniker _Winter Soldier_ , which became his codename and also a third tattoo. It was scrawled on his back between his shoulder blades in Russian, and he felt an odd sense of pride in having earned the distinction.

 _I always knew you'd be the best,_ Pierce told him, and Bucky made sure that he continued to earn such praise. He didn't let himself slip or allow his focus to shift, and most importantly of all, he never let himself _feel_ unless it was to enjoy the satisfaction of a clean, perfect kill.

Back home at the manor, his male comrades always had a steady number of pretty and willing women around. They came and went, and the braver ones eyed Bucky curiously and would occasionally try to catch his eye. But he didn't so much as look at them or even acknowledge them when they'd speak to him. Only Lukas understood Bucky's reasoning for this. The others thought that he perhaps preferred the company of men or was just so screwed up in the head that he didn't function like a normal man.

Bucky didn't care. The others had their distractions, but he had none. It was part of what made him better than them.

Soon he earned the chance to lead his own mission for the first time. It was an honor and he didn't take it for granted, and he also knew that it was the latest test he needed to pass. Failure was not an option. He was confident without being arrogant or cocky, which he knew was a surefire way to get blindsided and killed.

The mission was simple. There was a meeting taking place in a run-down warehouse in Hell's Kitchen where several key members of the Triad would be present, men who had killed several of Pierce's men a year prior. Bucky was to take out two of the targets and bring a third in for "questioning". He had already done as much before on missions that had been led by others, so he had little doubt in the success of the mission.

That was why it took him by such surprise when it all went wrong.

* * *

Somehow they'd known. They had known that Bucky was coming, and they'd set a trap that snared him before he had been able to fire a single shot. They killed two men that Bucky had brought with him, and only one escaped. They knocked Bucky out and he woke up hours later, tied to a chair and sitting in a dark, damp room illuminated by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling above.

He wasn't alone. There were two men there watching him, their guns trained on him as if he might break free of the restraints at any moment and overcome them. One said something to the other in their shared Chinese, and then one left. He returned with a man that Bucky recognized as having been one of his primary targets, a man named Jin.

He _smiled_ as he walked into the room, taller and bigger and older than the others and not at all scared of Bucky like the two guns probably were. He stopped in front of Bucky and grinned, "I would say this is unexpected, but as I'm sure you gathered, we already knew you were coming."

Bucky's scowl didn't twitch, his eyes narrowing on the man. They must have had a man on the inside to tip them off and give them that kind of information.

"You see, we've been expecting you," Jin went on. "You've earned quite the reputation for yourself over the last year. A cold-blooded killer, even by _our_ standards."

"Then you know that the minute I'm free, I'm gonna kill every last one of you," Bucky muttered, eyes as cold and dark as the _reputation_ Jin spoke of.

"That's why you're not going to get free," Jin replied. "Instead, you are going to stay in this room, right where you are. And I'm going to find out _exactly_ how much pain it takes to break the Winter Soldier."

If a prickle of sick dread creeped up Bucky's spine at the promise of endless torture, he didn't show even a fraction of it.

"And then," Jin leaned closer, taunting him though the anger in his black eyes was _searing_ and beyond what Bucky would have expected, "I'm going to kill you and feed what's left of you to the dogs."

Bucky's response came swiftly and evenly, filled with the hatred that came far too easily for Bucky in those days. "Fuck you."

That response earned him a hard punch to the jaw. He could have sworn that he felt the bone splinter on impact.

"Do you think is a game to me?" Jin asked, that anger in his eyes taking on a desperate glint. He grabbed Bucky's face and forced him to look him in the eye. "This is justice. I've waited _years_ for this."

Bucky stared at the man in confusion. What had he ever done to Jin personally, especially _years_ ago? He looked vaguely familiar, but he knew that he'd never seen him before. There was just something about his eyes that almost stirred a memory, but _what_?

"You will suffer as my son did. Tenfold," Jin told him with great, seething contempt. And then Bucky knew.

He'd seen those eyes years ago, when a gun had been placed in his hand and Pierce had told him to pull the trigger in the middle of a roomful of people watching with great interest. The man who had begged for his life on his knees before him had looked up with the very same eyes that belonged to his _father_ , Jin.

Jin left the room then, and Bucky knew that whatever would come next... it would be nothing short of pure, undeniable and inescapable hell. And he was right.

* * *

They began Bucky's with conventional methods, like incessant beatings and waterboarding. He refused to say a word through the pain and the cruelty, and when they moved on to such other methods like electric shock, he still didn't break or even speak.

Their torture went on for days, but to Bucky it felt like weeks. He had no sense of time in the dark, windowless room, and as the hours dragged on, he began to lose hope that Pierce would send a team in to rescue him.

He was given tiny sips of water to stay alive but not enough to hydrate him. Twice a day, a woman with the most sadistic smile that he'd ever seen would come in and force feed him scraps of either rotten or unwanted food until he threw up. He hated _that_ more than the beatings.

Once, they took a taser stick and shocked his _skull_ until he passed out. He woke up and couldn't remember his name or where he was, but the memories came back by the time that he was due for another round of brutality.

He had tortured men before when he had been instructed to, but he didn't prefer it. Torture was messy and sometimes ineffective. Killing was different - it was quick, efficient, and when done properly it was almost painless for the target. But these people were different. They enjoyed torturing him, relished it even. They took a pleasure from it that even he couldn't stomach.

Eventually he lost all hope of leaving that room, but he still didn't break. His resolve to never give them the satisfaction they so dearly wanted never wavered.

He expected death to come soon enough, either by Jin finally putting a bullet in his head or his body simply giving out. He welcomed it at that point, not only because death would stop the pain but because he knew that he deserved it. He had so little to live for, and he had become the thing that Vivian had been so very terrified of and left him over. He was _worse_ than she had ever feared, and he deserved to die. He deserved what was coming, so why fight it?

When he had been in their clutches for a week and a half, Jin entered the room with two men in protective suits holding a sealed bucket. Bucky was picked up from his place sprawled on the filthy, cold floor and shoved into the chair, which he was tied to as Jin watched in perverse pleasure.

"You are a stone, Barnes," Jin told him. "You are also a mess. Perhaps you'd like a bath."

He had no idea what that even meant, but whatever it was, he was sure that it would be the worst and most hideously cruel thing yet. He kept his mouth shut as the two men in white suits shuffled the bucket over, and Jin signaled for them to proceed as he stepped back.

"This might sting a bit," Jin told him with a grin. Bucky ignored him and stared at the bucket as the seal was removed, not wanting to know what was in there.

He only found out what it was once his left arm was grabbed and extended against his will, and a portion of the content's buckets were poured out directly on his bare skin. He felt a pain like he'd never even thought possible before, like being burned alive as some kind of _acid_ ate through his skin and left the limb burned and permanently deformed.

He screamed like he'd never screamed before, and then when the pain became too much for his brain or body to handle, he fell unconscious. Death would have been a mercy, but as he was more than aware of, he deserved no mercy.

* * *

Steve was worried. His gut was telling him that something was _very_ wrong, and his gut had never failed him before.

He was home for the week, having gotten his longest break from SHIELD in almost two years, and he couldn't find Bucky anywhere. He went to look for him at the manor, and all he got were cryptic messages that differed based on who he was talking to. One person told him Bucky was out of town with a woman, and another told him that he was out of the country with "friends".

Bucky's cell phone wouldn't even ring when Steve called it. He tried to get ahold of Alexander Pierce, but he was always unreachable. So were Lukas and Thor, and that _really_ worried him.

He tracked down Sam Wilson outside of Pierce's Manhattan skyscraper his second day back in town. Sam didn't give Steve the run around the way the others did.

"Look, man," Sam told him quietly, "it's bad. I can't say what's going on, but -"

"Is he alive?" Steve asked, having to stifle the urge to vomit just at the thought of the answer being no.

Sam hesitated. "We don't know. But it doesn't look good."

Steve paled and dropped his eyes to the ground, feeling suddenly dizzy and like he couldn't breathe. It was like phantom asthma, the sensation of his throat closing and lungs burning as real as the blue sky above him, but without the actual ailment.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, looking at Steve strangely before asking, "How much do you know about... all of this?"

"I know enough," Steve said, forcing himself to keep breathing. "Please. Tell me what happened."

Sam frowned and glanced around them, as if someone could be watching. "I shouldn't."

"Please," Steve begged. "He's my best friend. He's all the family I've got left."

Sam continued to frown, but his nature won out in the end. He ducked with Steve into a cafe and told him everything that he knew - that Bucky had been on a mission, the first one that he'd led on his own, and he'd been ambushed. The Triad had him now, and they didn't know if he was alive or dead.

Steve was certain that if he lost Bucky, he'd never recover. Ever since he'd figured out years earlier that his best friend had somehow ended up in the Russian mafia, he had feared that something like this would eventually happen, but he had let himself live in denial and think that it would never happen. He couldn't lose Bucky. He _couldn't_. He'd be losing a part of himself that he would never get back.

"Do you know where they're holding him?"

Sam frowned. "We have an idea, but we're not sure."

Steve clenched his jaw and could have marched up to the manor and wrung the neck of every occupant for not finding Bucky and rescuing him. What were they waiting for? Was he that expendable? Wasn't the mafia supposed to be a family who would fight to the death to protect those within it?

He looked up at Sam and said through gritted teeth, "I want to talk to Pierce."

Sam, seeing Steve's fire and determination, did not attempt to argue with him. "Okay."

A few moments later, as Steve was contemplating how far he'd go and put his job as a new agent at SHIELD on the line to save his best friend, Sam stared at Steve and his... _dramatically_ larger frame and couldn't help but say, "I gotta ask. It's the elephant in the room. Have you been taking steroids or something?"

"Something like that," Steve grumbled before standing up from the table. "Take me to Pierce."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded, getting up to follow Steve. He was so getting fired - or worse - for this.

* * *

Pierce, clearly stressed and sleep-deprived, sighed, "I admire your spirit, Steve. I do, but -"

"There's no _but_ about it," Steve shot back, standing in the foyer of the manor with Sam at his right side. "He might still be alive. We need to rescue him."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Pierce asked. "You don't know the first thing about any of this. You can't even imagine what it's like to be in my position and have to make the decisions that I have to."

"Maybe not. But what I do know is that you're the closest thing to a father that Bucky has, and you've got more than enough money and resources to find him and bring him home. You _owe_ it to him."

The two men continued to bicker, and Sam began to get a bit nervous. Steve was taking a big chance confronting Pierce the way that he was, and Sam didn't imagine that this would end well for Steve. But he couldn't blame the guy. It was beyond Sam's comprehension why Bucky hadn't been found and rescued yet.

In the midst of Steve and Pierce arguing, an idea came to Sam's mind that had the potential to solve _everything_. He waited for a break in the argument to step forward and say, "I've got an idea." Both men turned their angry and frustrated gazes to him, and he went on, "Why not pool your resources together and make this happen? You've got a common enemy here."

Steve paused, glancing back at Pierce who immediately shook his head. "SHIELD would never go for that."

"Maybe not," Steve agreed. "But I could do it anyway. Go in with your team. We can find Bucky and I can arrest every Triad member that we find."

Pierce smiled humorlessly. "And then what? Your superiors pat you on the back for bringing them in even though you went rogue and worked with _us_ to make it happen?"

"It's a chance I'm willing to take," Steve replied resolutely.

"Sounds like the start of a good working relationship, if you ask me," Sam stated.

Pierce looked at Sam and snapped, "I _didn't_ ask you. But fine. We'll do it. And since you were stupid enough to bring Steve here," he said, " _you_ get to go with him." He then glared at Steve before starting to turn to leave. "I'll assemble a team. Be ready by nine tonight."

Both Steve and Sam let out breaths they'd been holding after Pierce left the room. They then looked at each other, Sam raising his eyebrows and asking, "Are you always this stupid?"

Steve smiled a bit, shrugging one shoulder. "Bucky would say yes."

* * *

Bucky awoke in such excruciating, unbelievable pain that he first thought was that his left arm was _gone_. But it wasn't, as he came to find out after managing to lift his head off of the dirty ground enough to look. The limb was still there, but it was mangled and burned and he could see... he could see...

He dropped his head back to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping at the indescribable pain enveloping his arm and radiating through his entire body. Near his shoulder, the skin had burned enough so that the _bone_ was visible, and seeing that was something he would never forget.

He couldn't take this anymore. He had broken all right, but not in the way that his captors wanted.

He forced himself up into a sitting position, the blinding pain of that simple movement nearly making him faint again, but he stayed conscious and began scanning the room for something, anything, he could use to end the torture himself with. There was no point in hoping for rescue, because it had been too long. Nobody was coming. His captors would simply keep torturing him until there was nothing left, and the only way to fight back was to finish the job before they could.

Unfortunately, however, the room didn't have a single thing that he could fashion into a weapon or a noose. He crawled around, barely strong enough to do even that, and he couldn't even find a single loose nail or sharp edge of wood to slash a wrist against.

His arm, he knew, would become infected. It was only a matter of time, given the filth of the room. He'd likely die a slow, sick, fevered death from _that_.

He collapsed from exhaustion eventually, just in time for the lady who dealt him his daily force-feedings to arrive wearing her usual stomach-churning smile. She had a bowl of something horrid in her hands, and two men shoved him against a wall so she could force it down his throat. When he fought them with everything he had left in him and managed to head butt the woman, one of the men stomped his foot down on his burned left arm and snapped the bones like a twig.

It was too much pain and trauma for his mind to handle. He passed out, his heart just barely still beating, and his last thought before his world went to black was that he hoped he wouldn't wake up this time.

* * *

Bucky was dreaming. There was no pain, no sadness, no torture. Everything felt light, airy, peaceful, and some part of his brain that was still functioning wondered if he was dead.

He heard the familiar, sweet laughter of a woman whose name he hadn't uttered aloud in longer than he knew. It sounded close and yet far away at the same time, and he followed the sound with his mind, as if he could reach out and touch her if he got close enough.

He missed her so much. He missed her every day, even if he tried to force himself to forget her or move on. He knew he never could. She was a part of him, and he'd never be able to untangle her memory from his mind. She would always be there, close but always out of reach, reminding him that while she rested in peace, he was in _pieces_.

All too soon, the pleasant, surreal dream was interrupted by a voice. It sounded hollow at first, like a mere echo rather than a real voice, but it slowly grew louder, _louder_ , until he could make out what it was saying. It was calling his name, more frantically each time, and he could have recognized that voice out of a sea of others.

 _Bucky... Bucky, oh God._..

He didn't want to leave the peaceful, painless place in his formless dream, but Steve's panicked voice brought him out of it as effectively as a bucket of cold water to the face. Bucky opened his eyes, his entire body tensing with the onslaught of pain that came each time he awoke now, and his blurry vision focused on the face of his best friend hovering above him.

... But that couldn't be right. How could Steve be there?

"Steve?" he muttered, voice dry and painful, and the horror on Steve's face mixed with deep relief as he spoke.

"Yeah," he said softly, looking Bucky over and trying not to let it show how close to shattering he was at finding him like this - bloody, bruised, barely able to move and injured beyond belief. He helped Bucky sit up as he said, "I thought you were dead."

It was then that Bucky got a good enough look at Steve to realize that his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him. Steve was bigger. A lot bigger. Impossibly so. He blinked and muttered, "I thought you were smaller."

"Let's get you up," Steve said, gently helping him up. "Can you stand?"

He couldn't, not really, but that didn't stop Steve from hauling him up and supporting him so he didn't fall. Bucky continued to stare in bewilderment. Steve was taller than _him_ now. "What happened to you?"

"... I joined SHIELD," Steve replied before carefully walking them out of the room. "Come on. It's over."

"What's over?" Bucky asked, but soon his question was answered without the need of words. Steve half-carried him down a hallway that felt ten miles long, then down another corridor and out a door to the outside world. It was a rainy night, and the cool water fell on Bucky's face and washed away some of the grime there as he watched Triad members, including Jin, being loaded by men in SWAT uniforms into the back of an armored car.

Sam was there, and Lukas was too. So was a number of other men who worked for Pierce. Bucky blinked and took it all in as Steve led him to a waiting ambulance, none of it making any sense. It was only as several medics carefully eased him onto a gurney that Bucky looked at Steve and realized he was dressed in his SHIELD tactical uniform, something that Bucky had never seen before.

"It's gonna be okay, Bucky," Steve told him, forcing a smile on his face. "You're safe now."

Only seconds passed before one of the medics gave Bucky an enormous shot of morphine that took the edge off of the pain coursing through his arm and the rest of his body, and then his brain was swimming as he was eased down and an oxygen mask put on his face. He went in and out of consciousness, half-aware of the ride to the hospital and seeing Pierce's face waiting there for him as they moved him to the ICU.

He wanted Steve. He wanted to ask how the hell that he'd managed to get SHIELD to actually work with the damn Bratva, how any of this was even possible, but Pierce explained that Steve had to stay back at the scene and manage things from there. Hooked up to three different IV bags and pumped full of drugs, Bucky slept in a dead, dreamless slumber that night. He awoke in the morning to Steve sitting at his side, dressed in regular clothes and giving him that same slightly horrified but relieved smile.

Bucky's arm was wrapped up. He had bandages and stitches all over his body, and he was afraid to know the full extent of his injuries. He could still barely believe that he had survived and that he was safe. He'd been prepared to die, to accept his inescapable fate, but here he was and here was Steve.

"What did they do to you?" Steve asked in a broken, miserable tone.

Bucky would have cracked a smile if he had been able to. "What did they do to _you_?"

Steve huffed and shook his head. Some things would never change, and it was an enormous relief that Bucky, as broken as he was, could still shoot back a retort and sound like his old self even at a time like that.

"Still a jerk," Steve said with nothing but affection. Bucky managed to muster up something resembling a smile, and that was something that he could have only done for his best friend.

* * *

Bucky stayed in the hospital for an entire month. Steve visited daily, sometimes with Sam, and Lukas came when Steve had to leave, so Bucky was rarely ever alone. The doctors were stunned at Bucky's extensive injuries. His left arm had not only suffered severe chemical burns but was also broken, and just as Bucky had anticipated, it was also infected. At first there was talk of amputation - that was how bad the arm was - but after being treated with the strongest antibiotics known to mankind and undergoing several rounds of skin grafts afterwards, they allowed him to keep the arm. The nerve damage that he had sustained, however, was permanent. The arm would bear extensive scarring and never regain full sensation, but he could live with that.

His recovery was long and difficult. His arm was only part of his laundry list of injuries, which included bruised and broken ribs, broken nose, internal bleeding, a severe concussion, and a kidney infection that especially worried his doctors. His prognosis was, at times, very unclear and rather dim. Steve worried at his bedside like a fretful mother, and Pierce paid for the best specialists in the country to fly there and lend their expertise to the case.

Bucky, for his part, wasn't sure that he even wanted to recover. The only thing that kept him from jabbing a syringe of air into his vein and ending it all was Steve - freakishly tall, bizarrely muscle-bound, inexplicably no longer asthma-afflicted Steve - never leaving his side or letting him throw in the towel. And Bucky, at the end of the day, could never hurt Steve by ending his own life. He knew what it would do to Steve, because he knew what it would do to _him_ to lose Steve.

He did, however, mention his lack of will to live and suicidal thoughts to Lukas late one night, and he was rewarded with absolutely _furious_ eyes and a verbal beating that included, "Are you truly that selfish? Do you have any idea what that would _do_ to your idiot of a best friend? To Thor, to my mother? To Pierce?"

Just by the look that had been on his face, Bucky knew that there had been a silent _or me_ added on to the list of people who would be hurt by Bucky's death. Lukas just wouldn't say it aloud.

Bucky had eyed him with tears threatening to build behind his eyes, and Lukas had went on, "You've never been one for cowardice, so don't start now. Otherwise there's no point in my even coming here every damn night."

Bucky had swallowed, hesitating before mumbling, "Thanks for that, by the way."

"What?" Lukas snapped, arms crossed and still glaring at him.

"Being here," Bucky replied simply.

Lukas's glare had softened fractionally before he sighed and replied, "You're welcome." He then added, "I'll have you know that I _could_ have spent tonight in the arms of a rather shapely brunette, but I came here instead. Like an idiot."

Bucky grinned. "Sorry about that."

"You should be," Lukas replied. "Now do us all a favor and stop with the ridiculous thoughts and start getting better."

Bucky nodded. "I'm trying."

In time, thanks in part to the necessary slap in the face that had been Lukas's unconventional pep talk, he did get better. He healed with the help of a truckload of drugs and months of physical therapy after he was finally allowed to go home from the hospital. He was welcomed home with a party and embraces from everyone who had missed him, including Thor who nearly crushed him all over again with his enormous arms, and he and Lukas's mother Frieda who hugged him the way that his own mother would have had she still been alive.

Things calmed down after that. Steve was moved by SHIELD to their New York office and promoted rather than fired for his rogue mission. The agency's Director Peggy Carter had been both furious and deeply impressed with his work, and at his new office at SHIELD's Manhattan, Steve developed a cooperative and mutually beneficial working relationship with the Bratva. It wasn't unheard of for Federal officials to protect certain mob members or branches in exchange for information, and that was exactly what Steve did. It proved a successful venture for both parties.

Bucky, meanwhile, was sidelined from both missions and training while he worked on his physical therapy and continued recovery. Pierce took the opportunity to teach Bucky more of the business side of what he did, which was equally important to the other, more violent side of operations. Bucky took a job in the financial division of the corporation, and for the first time in his life, he wore a suit and worked out of an office every day. He did, however, let his hair grow long for the first time in his life, perhaps as his own personal statement against conformity. He tied it back in a bun at work and let it hang to his shoulders the rest of the time.

Pierce treated Bucky like an apprentice and made it a priority to teach him everything he knew. It helped Bucky to have something to do and occupy his restless mind with, and he was good at his job. He was smart and he knew full well that he could - and likely would - one day run everything just as Pierce was. He had been being groomed for it since the moment he first stepped foot at the manor all of those years ago, and as time went on and he managed to put his time in captivity behind him as best as he could, he began to look forward to taking up the mantle one day.

But nightmares always, _always_ , came at night. The trauma of being tortured to the extent that he had was deep and seemingly inescapable. Steve was always there to talk to about it and he tried to get Bucky to open up, but Bucky preferred to keep it all bottled up inside where nobody could see it. He dealt with the memories and the phantom pains and the nightmares by rarely sleeping and working as much and as hard as he could. He simply didn't know what else to do.

When he was strong enough, he started training again. He built himself back up and worked hard to get back to where he had been before, and when he got to that level, he kept at it until he had _surpassed_ it. He was determined to overcome what had been done to him, to become stronger and more deadly than ever, and he achieved that through the sort of commitment that had earned him his codename and the respect of his peers.

Just shy of his 26th birthday, Bucky decided to symbolize his personal victory with a fourth tattoo. On his scarred and damaged left arm, right at the shoulder where he had once looked down and saw his own bones visible under burned, eroded skin, there was now an intricate design that made it appear as if his scared skin tore away to reveal a bionic limb made entirely of metal underneath. The implication was deliberate; he was, under his vulnerable flesh and bone, made of something stronger, something unbreakable. His scars didn't prove his weakness but rather showcased his strength.

He returned to the field soon after, leading missions again and proving that he was the best. Pierce had never doubted him.

* * *

After Bucky had been active again in the field for a full year, Pierce surprised him by informing him one morning that one of their comrades from Russia was arriving soon and would be staying permanently with them at the manor. They were strong, experienced and ruthless, and Pierce also mentioned that they were Bucky's only real competition for the title of Captain once Pierce was ready to pass it on. Bucky wasn't entirely happy to hear the news, but he was confident enough in his role as heir that he didn't worry very much.

He was at the manor ready to help Pierce greet the new arrival the night that their flight landed at JFK. He expected an arrogant but skilled man, likely older than him and boasting of years of experience to back up his ambition. That was why what walked through the door stunned him into momentary silence.

His competition was a tiny but curvaceous redhead who strutted into the manor as if she already owned it, dressed in a black dress and a floor-length fur coat. Her lips were blood-red, matching her hair, and green eyes sparkled at him as her high heels clicked on the hardwood floor and carried her his way.

Pierce greeted her like an old friend, and they were both all smiles as they exchanged their greetings in Russian. Bucky stared at her, dumbfounded, and then schooled his features back into blankness by the time she turned to him and extended her hand.

"Natalia Romanova," she told him, her name rolling off of her tongue in a naturally seductive, slightly raspy voice. Her smaller hand fit into his and shook it firmly, giving away the strength that laid deceptively within her small frame. "I have heard so much about you."

He licked suddenly dry lips and returned the handshake. "Welcome, Natalia."

Next to them, Pierce looked at Bucky and said, "You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other. Bucky, I want you to sharpen her skills and make training her your top priority. She's going to be staying here in America, so I also want you to help her with her accent. She needs to blend in"

Bucky stared at Pierce incredulously for a fraction of a second, releasing Natalia's hand and wanting to demand how Pierce could ask this of him. This woman, this _comrade_ bore such a striking resemblance to Vivian that simply looking at her made his heart sink. He wanted to ship her back to Moscow and never lay eyes upon her again.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Pierce asked expectantly.

"No, sir," Bucky replied automatically, though inside he wanted to scream.

"Good." Pierce then turned to Natalia and smiled, "Make yourself at home. Bucky will show you to your room."

Natalia thanked him graciously, and then Pierce departed from their midst. Bucky stared at the woman like she had personally wronged him, even though she could not have known why her presence disturbed him so. When she raised a perfectly arched brow questioningly, he turned on his heel and began leading her to her room without a word. He did not speak to her once the entire way there.

Once they had arrived at their destination, Bucky turned to her - _God, her eyes_ \- and stated simply and monotonously, "Training starts tomorrow at 8."

"I'll be there," she assured him with a little smile, walking past him into her room and closing the door after shooting him one last _look_ from the corner of her eye. She closed the door, and the sound nearly made him jump.

He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

* * *

The following morning, she _kicked_ him in the stomach. Natalia was one of the strongest, fiercest fighters that he had ever faced, and she was barely five feet tall and just a fraction of his weight.

She had already highly trained for years back in Russia, and she impressed him from the start. They called her the Black Widow, and she lived up to her name - small, beautiful, and absolutely deadly. She was brilliant, elegant, and she was the quickest learner that he had ever encountered.

He taught her how to walk, talk, and act like an American. Her American accent, as a result, had a bit of a Brooklyn tinge to it, but that was okay. She changed her name to Natasha Romanoff to blend in better, but he never called her anything but Natalia. She called him James, because she told him that she simply could not call a man as fearsome as the Winter Soldier some silly, whimsical name like _Bucky_.

He taught her how to kill a man with her thighs. She used the new skill on their first mission together, snapping a man's neck in two with one simple, elegant twist, and he knew that he shouldn't have found it as arousing as he did. He shouldn't have found _her_ so arousing, but he was only a man and he had not touched a woman in _five years_. And Natalia... she was everything that he found physically attractive in a woman and more.

He wouldn't let himself acknowledge that attraction, however, because just the thought of doing so felt like a betrayal to the woman that he truly loved. Natalia's resemblance to Vivian was striking, but their similarities ended at the physical. In every other quality, they could not have possibly been more different. Vivian had been innocent, sweet, caring. Natalia was cold, calculating, and possibly as emotionally stunted as Bucky himself was.

He didn't know why. She was not one to share her undoubtedly tragic backstory with a man whom she considered to be her competition for a most coveted title. But he saw in her what he carried within himself - loss, pain, years-old grief. Armor. Caution at every turn.

They were the same, he realized with despair. And she was damn close to equal in skill, even though she was three years younger and lacked the bulk that made it easy for him to break bones with his fists or his feet. And she made it look absolutely effortless.

He trained her for four miserable, _terrible_ months. He hated her because looking at her was like looking into a mirror, and as he came to realize, he hated _himself_. He also despised her because she was the one person in the entire manor, other than Pierce and the brothers, who lacked a single modicum of fear of him. She knew that she was equal to him and that she could take him any day, and he knew it too. He had quite literally met his match. And that made him crave her like he craved the very air he breathed while at the same time despising her very existence.

Being the most perceptive woman - no, person - he had ever met, she knew exactly what she did to him. She knew _everything_. She knew what to say to get under his skin, how to act to drive him insane, and how to trip him up when they sparred so that she came out on top. Literally.

Some days she sparred with him in just a sports bra and pants that hugged her legs and hips in ways that made his hands twitch. The sounds that she made when she struck at him, the groans of struggle that came from her throat when he held her down in a lock and pressed his chest to her sweat-slicked back, the heave of her breasts when they were pressed against him and she had her arm pushed against his throat... everything about her made him want to throw her down on the mat and fuck her until neither one of them could walk straight.

But he didn't, even when she'd catch the heat in his eyes and, after having wrestled him to the floor and straddled him, would deliberately grind herself against a part of him that responded embarrassingly quickly. A hint of a smirk would cross her lips and she would do it again, arching her back and licking her full, pink lips in a way that had him imagining what they'd look like wrapped tightly around his...

He'd stifle the thought and flip them over, take the advantage back, and then declare training for the day over. Then he'd leave her there on the mat and go back to his room, locking the door and retreating into the shower to wash away her scent and the _feel_ of her from his skin.

More than once he tried to ignore what she had done to him, but sheer physical _need_ would always win out in the end. Before the water in the shower could run cold, he would close his eyes and give in, laying his left palm on the tiled wall and wrapping his right hand around himself while trying so very hard to think of anything, _anyone_ but her. Anything but her flat, delicately muscular belly, the soft curves of her hips, her unbelievably strong legs when they'd wrap around his shoulders take him down to the floor, her full, perfect breasts and dark emerald eyes that promised to give him everything he wanted if he'd only _politely_ ask her...

Though he did everything he could _not_ to, he usually imagined taking her savagely against a wall and making her scream his name, or yanking a fistful of her scarlet hair as she kneeled at his feet and swallowed him down, and he'd bite down on his own shoulder to keep quiet as he came hard enough to almost lose his balance against the shower wall. But nothing made him lose his mind as quickly as imagining himself on his knees before her, his tongue playing and tasting her as she arched her back and ran her hands over her own breasts, teasing and pinching as her mouth fell open and she _moaned_...

He was hopeless. And every time he touched himself to thoughts of her, his nearly crippling guilt would double and he'd hate her even more for what she was making him do.

His hatred reached its peak at the end of those four months, when it became clear that they were on equal footing and only beating each other up for fun at that point. It was late at night - her preferred operating hours, nocturnal creature that she was - and he was hitting at her too hard, pushing her too far, and he knew what he was really doing. He was using her, his equal and his mirror image in so many ways, as a replacement for who he _really_ wanted to punish, which was himself.

She, of course, handled him and used his uncharacteristic sloppiness that night to bring him to his knees and place him at her mercy. He pretended to give in and let her think that the brutal match was over. She got up and began to walk away, dressed more fully that night than usual but no less tempting of a sight. He stared at her through stray pieces of his hair that had escaped the small bun at the back of his head, watching her walk away until he finally, _finally_ reached the end of his rope.

He was only a man. He could only take so much.

He got up to his feet and grabbed her, throwing her against the nearest wall with a loud thud that he _knew_ had hurt her. She let out a noise of surprise, looking up at him in confusion as he pressed his entire body against hers and kept her arms pinned to the wall with his hands.

" _What are you doing_?" she asked him in her native Russian, squirming against his too-tight hold.

"English, Natalia," he growled, hands tightening on her arms for good measure. There would be bruises in the morning. _Good_.

"What's gotten into you, James?" she then asked him in flawless, softer English, with that little bit of barely-there Brooklyn flair that made him feel a twinge of pride every time he heard it. It was like a mark upon her that hardly anyone would notice, one that was just for him and him alone.

He looked into her eyes, those big, mysterious, seductive green orbs, and then let his gaze fall to her lips. He swallowed, leaning in closer, his own lips parted as he groaned, "I could kill you right now with my bare hands." He touched two fingertips to the pulse in her throat, watching himself touch her. "Crush your windpipe, snap your neck. I could kill you right here and nobody could stop me."

She swallowed against his fingers, but not in fear. His eyes flickered up to hers and he watched her pupils dilate at his words. She then smirked slightly and rasped, "So could I."

He wondered how fucked up they both were to be aroused by such morbid talk.

He leaned in closer, letting go of her arms. He touched her hair, long and vibrant and soft, _so soft_ , and she brought her hands to his waist. Her fingertips slipped up his black t-shirt _just_ enough to feel his skin, and both his lips and her lips were parted enough so that they could share increasingly heated breaths. His mouth was so close to hers, and he wanted to kiss her, wanted to plunge his tongue into her wet mouth and dominate her with everything he had...

But he couldn't.

He froze _just_ before her lips could just barely brush his. "No kissing."

She raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze as his eyes bored into hers. "Only fucking?"

"Only fucking," he confirmed. The thought of tasting another woman's lips felt like some kind of blasphemy against what he had shared with Vivian. He would have a hard enough time forgiving himself for what he was about to do, and he didn't need the added guilt of _that_.

She nodded, then slipped out from between him and the wall to saunter off towards the door. He watched her like a predator staring down its prey as it taunted him, and his entire body tingled with anticipation as she looked at him over her shoulder and smirked, "Come on, _Loverboy_."

 _God_ , how he hated her.

He followed her back to his own room, closing the door and locking it as she took off her shirt and tossed it to the floor. She then turned to face him, all pretenses dropped and inhibitions left at the door as he reached for her and she reached for him. They collided like the two forces of nature that they were, and they demolished everything in their path.

They broke not one but two lamps as they undressed and _attacked_ one another. He ripped her panties in two and she took his hair down so she could pull it entirely too hard, and when he slammed her into the wall once she was fully nude and he was _almost_ the same, a framed art photo on the wall that had been there when he'd moved in years ago fell to the ground and shattered. He cupped her breast and took her nipple into his mouth, and she arched deliciously softly and gave his hair another hard pull that shot straight down his body, where all of his blood was pooling.

She traced his tattoos, most of which she hadn't seen before, with delicate and deceptively gentle fingertips. She didn't blink at his scars or treat his left arm any different from his right, though he could barely feel her fingers as they traced the fading pink lines and raised white edges that littered the limb.

She had tattoos of her own, both of which he had seen before. _Black Widow_ in Russian was inked between her shoulder blades, like his own codename tattoo, and then on her inner left wrist, a small and delicate black widow spider, descending from an intricate web. It was so very fitting, he couldn't help but press a kiss to the little spider. Then his lips were on her chest, between her breasts and dragging hungrily down her heated skin and leaving open-mouth kisses down a trail that ended where he was most desperate to taste her.

But he only had a chance to nuzzle her there and barely brush his lips against her before she pulled on his hair and got him back on his feet. Then she unexpectedly shoved him back, making him stagger a bit, and he was slightly confused until she tensed as if she was preparing to spring herself onto his shoulders. And that was what she did, after meeting his eyes and giving him a look that made him suddenly realize _exactly_ what she was doing and why. And _oh_ , he was going to _love_ this.

Just like he'd taught her, she flung and flipped herself gracefully and fluidly into the air, hands grasping him first before her legs swung and curled sideways around his shoulders, hoisting herself on top of them like it was nothing. He grabbed her hips and pulled her around so that she was seated directly on his shoulders with her legs open to his face, and she grabbed his hair tightly in both hands to hold on. Then, holding her in place, he looked up at her darkly and almost threateningly before licking his lips and then leaning his head forward to take his first taste of her. She was absolutely soaked - she was probably like that whenever they sparred, just as he was always left aching when they'd part - and she tasted like decadence and guilt, which is exactly what he'd expected. Only she was even better than he'd thought she would be, and that was _incredible_ because he had been expecting perfection.

Using his hair as her anchor, Natalia closed her eyes and rocked against Bucky's face as he maintained his tight, secure grip on her thighs and gently teased her at first, despite how much he wanted to just dive in and eat her alive. As he slowly but surely and skillfully worked her up, he also walked them casually across the room, footsteps stable and sure despite how fully he was invested in what _else_ he was doing. She held on all the while, wantonly moving on his tongue and telling him in Russian to stop teasing her when it became too much. He responded with a growl that vibrated through her entire body before he slammed her into a wall, maintaining their precarious position as he all but _devoured_ her.

He _loved_ this. He wished he'd done this weeks or months earlier, and judging by her quiet but heavy breaths and increasingly erratic movements, she was _more_ than on the same page. He was nearly drowning in her, barely breathing and not caring at all, focused solely on making her come and making her entire body shake as it was trapped between the wall and his hungry mouth. And when he got her there and made her do just that, she came with a chaotic and breathless gasp that was somehow more satisfying than any moan could have been, punctuated by a rough and deliciously hard yank on his hair.

He could have stopped there, but he didn't. He kept going, never really stopping, gently easing her into the next round. He wasn't expecting her to push him away in the middle of his efforts and then slide her now-shaky legs from his shoulders, shoving him down on his back on the floor so she could ride his face, but that was exactly what she did. He was breathless and overcome with lust, watching her position herself over him and, just as she had in his fantasies, touch and rub her own breasts as his tongue took her apart for a second time from underneath her. He had never had a woman sit on his face before, but he found that he rather liked it. He'd never been so happy to struggle for breath.

She still didn't moan or scream when she fell apart. He already knew that she wouldn't be open and giving with her noises. She was far too guarded and self-possessed for that. Instead, she arched and gasped and bit her full lower lip, powerful thighs quaking in waves on either side of his head as she let the waves crash over her a second time, lasting a little longer than the first. It occurred to him in that moment what a show of trust this was, since she could have so easily killed him with those thighs and eliminated her competition for Pierce's job. It would have been rather fitting for her - take her pleasure from her prey and then leave it dead on the floor.

But she didn't kill him. Instead, she eased off of him once she had regained her self-control, and she grinned wickedly when she looked down and saw the mess that she'd left on his pretty face. He grinned back, licking his lips lewdly, resisting the urge to break his own rule and kiss her deeply to have her taste herself. But the thought flew out of his mind once she began kissing and _biting_ her way down his chest, her mouth and fingers and nails working together to send pleasure laced with pain through every part of him that she touched. It was _perfect_ , and so very different from anything that he had ever experienced before.

Then it all became exponentially better and more intense when she looked up at him from down near his hips, hands teasing up his inner thighs and her hair tickling his legs. She took her time teasing him and drawing his anticipation out before she finally gripped him, stroking him entirely too softly, looking up and grinning darkly at his frustrated little whine. He thrust into her hand, wanting - _needing_ \- more, and when she was satisfied with his distress, she finally leaned down and took him into that perfect mouth that he wouldn't allow himself to kiss.

He cursed in three different languages and grasped her hair, digging his fingers into the back of her head as she utterly blew his mind. She was able to take _all_ of him down, something he'd never experienced before, and she looked every bit as sinful and gorgeous swallowing him down as he had imagined she would be. She was so good, so skilled and so _rough_ when she bit her nails into his hips at the same moment that he hit the back of her throat, he let out a rough shudder of a moan and had to force her off of him before he lost his mind.

After that, they both lost what minuscule patience they had and things began to move quickly. Soon they were both on their feet again, Bucky picking her up and crashing her down on his dresser as her legs wrapped around him and he buried his face in her neck, sucking a mark into her skin and groaning roughly when she reached between them and guided him into her. She was tight and hot and needy, and she met each of his thrusts with hard rolls of her hips, matching the bruising rhythm. The dresser beneath her shook and rattled against the wall, their pace quickening until he picked her back up and moved them to the bed. He dropped her into the center of the mattress, and she instantly overpowered him and sunk down on top of him with her first real, heady moan of the night.

She fucked like she fought, he thought, hard and unforgiving but precise and passionate. He let her take the lead and ride him until he couldn't take it anymore, rolling them suddenly and then flipping her on all fours. He took her hard and fast, mouth open and dragging along her Black Widow tattoo underneath the back of her neck, tracing the Russian letters with his tongue before he pulled her up by her hair so she was flush against him. She grasped his hair in one hand and ground herself back against him, letting out a soft moan when his right hand slipped between her legs and rubbed in time with the punishing rhythm that he was setting.

"Harder, James," she told him, turning her face towards his so that their lips nearly brushed. "I won't break."

He growled, deep and low in his chest, then pulled out of her and flipped her on her back. She opened her legs wide for him, eyes fearless and daring as she watched his own gaze fall between her thighs and stay there. He couldn't help but lean down and steal another taste of her, lingering there and all but feasting until she trembled and came with a silent scream. He stroked himself and watched her all the while, waiting until she had calmed down and opened her eyes to slip back up her body and fuck her deep into the mattress.

She scratched her nails down his back until he gasped and told her _again, harder_ in Russian, moaning and taking her harder when she obeyed and made it _hurt_. It was then that he lifted her leg over his shoulder - she had been trained as a dancer in her younger years, and he could have bent her leg behind her own head without strain if he'd wanted to - and then they were both racing to the end as the bed's headboard slammed into the wall each time he slammed into _her_. It was hard and rough and brutal, not a trace of tenderness between them but rather a sort of primal need and violent lust that could only be shared between two equals of their caliber and abilities.

Bucky reached between them when he could hold back no longer, coaxing one more release out of her with his fingers and a rough command of _come for me, Natalia_ first in Russian and then in English, repeating it until she obeyed and her body _squeezed_ him until he was coming with her. He moaned much more loudly than she did, face buried between her neck and shoulder as he reached his blissful, exquisite end. It had been a long time coming, and for those blessed few moments spent coming down and catching his breath, all was well with the world.

They laid there, both of them drowsy and loose, Natalia beautifully sated and Bucky nearly asleep on top of her. They were soaked in one another's sweat, bodies forming bruises and angry red scratches and bite marks that they'd bear for the next week, and for a long time, neither one of them had the will to move.

Natalia was the first to pull away, and it was only fitting, seeing as they were in his room. He rolled off of her and she stretched luxuriously, like a particularly happy cat, and then she sat up and smirked as she looked around the room.

"Well. We sure did a number on your room."

The moment that he heard her voice, the sex-induced spell broke and the inevitable guilt and self-hated began to trickle to the forefront of his mind. He watched as Natalia stood up from the bed, all grace and luscious curves and hair that had felt exquisite between his fingers, and she slipped her clothes back on silently before looking back at him. He hadn't moved, still laying there in the middle of his bed without even a sheet covering one inch of him, wearing an expression that she instantly saw right through.

"Relax, James," she told him, her tone seemingly sincere for once. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself every once in awhile."

He didn't reply. He remained silent as he watched her turn and leave, closing his door softly behind her after she walked through it. Left in her wake was chaos, broken glass and shattered ceramic, scratches on the painted wall behind the bed, and his dresser might have had few screws knocked loose too. Everything was in disarray, but the damage to his room was minor compared to the storm starting to swirl in his brain.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he did have the right to enjoy himself sometimes. Maybe there was nothing wrong with two consenting adults demolishing a room in purely loveless passion. Maybe he had no real reason to feel guilty for being human and finally sating his needs after five years of only having his own hand for relief.

Maybe that was all true, but it didn't matter. It didn't stop the sense of shame from creeping up his spine, nor did it keep at bay the self-hatred that he carried for so very many reasons, not the least of which was knowing damn well that if Vivian was still alive and healthy, she would refuse to have absolutely anything to do with the man that he had become.

He laid down on his back, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. This was his reality now. His days of making love to a sweet, beautiful woman who loved him deeply were long over. Love like that wasn't meant for men like him or women like Natalia. They didn't deserve it. But they _could_ fuck like the twisted savages that they were.

Maybe he didn't hate her after all. Maybe his hatred for himself would always outweigh his hatred of others, even the beautiful and deadly ones who cruelly resembled the dead woman who still held his heart in her lifeless hand.

* * *

The following morning, Bucky encountered Lukas near the kitchens on his way to grab himself a very _very_ large cup of coffee. All he said to the man was a grumbled _morning,_ but somehow it was enough to make Lukas turn on his heel and stare at Bucky with knowing glee in his eyes.

"You had sex last night," Lukas announced, smirking while Bucky blinked and furrowed his brows. "Well, it's about damn time, you poor, deprived soul."

Bucky was dumbfounded. "... How could you even -"

"Who was the lucky lady?" Lukas asked. Then his eyes dropped to Bucky's neck and zeroed in on a bite mark that he reached out and touched before Bucky smacked his hand away. "Ah! It was _Natasha_. Finally! I could cut the sexual tension between you two with a dull knife."

Bucky rolled his eyes and muttered, "I'm starting to think we know each other a little _too_ well. It's making me uncomfortable."

Lukas knew he was joking, so he followed him to where the coffeemaker was and said, "Oh, _please_. But truly, I'm happy for you. It's been far too long. I was starting to get so concerned for your mental health that I was considering giving you a hand myself. Literally."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he grabbed a mug from a cabinet and muttered, "Fuck off, would you?"

"Fine, fine," Lukas relented, holding up his hands in surrender. "Though I must ask - what was she like?"

Bucky sighed, wishing that the first answer that had come to mind hadn't been _not_ _Vivian_. Instead he replied simply, "She's exactly what you would expect."

Lukas groaned. " _That_ good?"

"Better," Bucky replied. Lukas closed his eyes made a noise as if he choked a little.

"Was it only a one time thing? Do you think you'll... make an arrangement out of it?" Lukas asked, clearly overcome with curiosity.

"I don't know, Lukas," Bucky sighed. "But you'll be the first to know as soon as I figure it out."

Lukas chuckled at the sarcastic response. "Good. I look forward to it." Then he paused and leaned in closer to ask, "Mind if I watch next time?"

Bucky shoved him out of the kitchen after calling him a _fucking pervert_ in only the most affectionate of ways. In truth, Bucky had no intention of touching Natalia again, but as was the case so many times, his intentions didn't always hold up the way that he wanted them to.

When their next mission together ended with Bucky shoving Natalia against the wall of an alleyway and fucking her until they both saw stars, he gave up any pretense of keeping his distance or trying to resist. They worked together in bed as well as they worked together in the field, and soon enough neither could think of one good reason why they shouldn't take advantage of that.

As Lukas had predicted, their relationship became a much more regularly occurring arrangement. They never fell in love or even approached a point where they were in danger of developing such feelings, but as time went on, they became constants in each other's lives. Despite their competition when it came to their work, they grew to trust one another and became partners in nearly every sense of the word.

This took Pierce by surprise. He had expected them to eat each other alive and fight to the death, but he didn't mind this unexpected outcome either. It actually worked out rather better this way.

Bucky, for his part, eventually found that he couldn't agree more.

* * *

Several years passed by, and the future of the organization began to take its final shape. Pieces were falling into place, its younger members taking on the roles that they were best suited to, and Bucky could sense the changes on the horizon.

Lukas, having fought his own unique battles over the years and consistently finding a way to win and prove himself, was tapped to take on the business and public side of operations. He had been working hard with Pierce ever since graduating from Yale years earlier, and he was a rising star in the world of business. His tongue was his sharpest weapon, and he could talk investors out of their money as skillfully as he could talk a woman out of her dress (or a man out of his suit). Pierce saw him as his best choice by _far_ to take on the public face of the company, and Bucky couldn't have been more relieved - he wanted _that_ job about as much as he wanted a broken nose.

Thor, meanwhile, who had once been his father's favorite and the presumptive heir to the job that Lukas now possessed, found that he was better suited to leading security and protecting the family rather than taking on board rooms or dealing with the finer points of finances. He could have had more, and once upon a time he would have rolled whatever heads were necessary to achieve what he wanted, but he had finally grown up and learned quite a few lessons when it came to personal character and responsibility. He was happier this way, and so were his mother and brother.

Across town, Steve had moved up rather quickly at SHIELD and continued to work with Bucky and the others when their interests aligned. Bucky had once feared Steve learning the truth about him above all else and would have killed to keep it a secret from him, but to his undying surprise, Steve had never treated him any different. He didn't exactly _agree_ with what Bucky did and he wished that Bucky would get out of the mob, mostly for his own sake and safety, but he never tried to push Bucky into doing anything he didn't want to do. He was always there for Bucky, and he served as the connection to Bucky's humanity when Bucky needed it most.

Alexander Pierce, meanwhile, was moving on to bigger things himself. Baron Von Strucker wanted him in Russia to help manage things there, so it was time to officially name a new Captain for the American division. The top two candidates were obvious and, if Bucky was objective in the matter, he thought that Natalia had a lock on the job. She was truly Russian and perfectly qualified where he was undoubtedly in the eyes of Strucker still just a kid from Brooklyn, albeit a talented and loyal one. Bucky knew that Pierce was lobbying for him to get the job, but he also knew that it was due to his own personal fondness for Bucky as well as a dubious belief that Natalia, being a woman, was at an inherent disadvantage.

Bucky knew how very wrong such a belief was. The Bratva may have been dominated by men, but Natalia was worth _at least_ ten for every one of them. Gender was nothing, but her brilliance and lethal abilities were everything.

Natalia, however, knew all along that Bucky was always going to get the job. For as much as she wanted it for herself and knew that she deserved it as much as he did, she knew that the leadership would always a favor a man over a woman. As a result, when the day came and the news was made official, she was not the least bit surprised.

James Barnes, the Winter Soldier, born into poverty and plagued by tragedy that followed him through life like an ever-faithful shadow, was named Captain a few weeks before his 29th birthday. He was the Bratva's new American leader, and this was his reward for being the loyal and fearsome soldier that he was. All the blood that he'd shed and violence that he had inflicted had led him here, and if what Pierce told him was true, this was where he had always been meant to be. This was destiny, and he should be proud of himself and his work. After all, he had helped shape the last decade, and he would now have the power to shape the future.

Steve took the news as best as he could. Bucky hadn't expected him to be happy or excited for him, but Steve still agreed to come for a big party that was being thrown at the manor in Bucky's honor. At the very least, now they could work more closely together, and Steve didn't have to deal with Alexander Pierce anymore. Steve had never liked him. He blamed him for what his best friend had endured and what he had become.

Bucky was typically not much for parties, but when the night came to celebrate his officially induction into the leadership, he found that Natalia's earlier words rang true in more ways than one. He _was_ allowed to enjoy himself. Might as well take advantage before his life dramatically changed yet again.

* * *

"Smile, Captain."

Bucky's lips curled into a smile in response to the words that Natalia had whispered in his ear, and together they both smiled in time for the flash of her camera. As she turned the camera around to inspect the photo, Bucky took a drink of the whiskey in his hand and found that he was indeed enjoying himself. The drinks were flowing and the manor was full of people who technically now all answered to _him_ , and he had to admit - it wasn't a bad feeling.

Natalia grinned up at him and showed him the photo. "See how handsome you are when you smile?"

He supposed that she was right, but he quickly looked away from the photo and shrugged before changing the subject. "You're smiling a lot for someone who just suffered a major career setback."

She merely smiled and replied without missing a beat, "I work for men who I could kill without breaking a nail, and they think I can't do their job because I'm a woman. It's nothing new to me, trust me."

"It's not right," Bucky replied, meaning those words.

"No, it's not," she agreed. "But there's hope for me yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is there?"

"The old people are dying, retiring, moving to the Virgin Islands to live out their golden years," she chuckled. "Our new American Captain is a man who knows I'm every bit as good as he is. Maybe he'll usher in a new age of progress and help lay to rest the ridiculous misogyny of the past."

"That's a lot of hope to pin on me," he noted, taking another drink.

"Maybe. But you have yet to disappoint me," she smirked before leaning up and kissing Bucky on his cheek. She looked at him through her lashes as she drew away. "Celebrate later, my room?"

His mouth upturned in a knowing grin, already able to nearly feel her tangled underneath him, stretched out above him, all around him. Neither of them had touched another man or woman since the first night they had collided, and that was fine by both of them. They kept one another more than satisfied, and trust and safety wasn't something they could share with most others.

They also hadn't shared a single kiss on the lips once since their relationship began. Their mouths had been nearly _everywhere_ on one another, but never there. Natalia respected Bucky's rule and, in time, had come to understand why he had established it in the first place.

"Yeah, I'll be there," he answered, and she ran her hand over his shoulder with another little smile before leaving him to go and mingle some more. Bucky would have followed, but then Thor was suddenly there next to him and giving him one of his famous bone-crushing hugs.

Lukas was there too, rolling his eyes at his brother as Bucky shook off the hug and straightened his tie as Thor beamed. "Careful, brother, he doesn't like his personal space being invaded unless it's by a particular tiny redhead."

Thor scoffed and clapped Bucky on the back. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it! This is all so exciting. I can remember the three of us in this very house as boys, running around and stealing chocolate from the kitchens, and now look at us. Look at _you!"_

"Thank you," Bucky said, managing a smile. "I appreciate your support, I really do. I wouldn't be here if not for you both."

"Mostly me," Loki said, earning offense from Thor that he laughed off, and Bucky found himself in such uncharacteristically high spirits that he even laughed a little when Thor was soon dragged away by a certain tall brunette who demanded that he dance with her. Lukas noticed this and observed, "You seem to be in a good mood for once."

Bucky sighed, finishing his drink and then setting it on a tray that a busser carried by. "Guess I finally feel like I've accomplished something."

"You've accomplished quite a lot," Lukas replied as they walked away from the crowd, towards a winding staircase. "Don't sell yourself short."

"I just... I feel like I can really... _do_ something for the first time," Bucky said. "I joined when I was a kid because I wanted revenge on the people who killed my parents. Feels like this is the first real chance I've gotten to do that."

Before he knew it, they were on the second floor and wandering out on an open balcony. The sounds of the party were far away as he breathed in the crisp night air, looking out on the vast grounds of the manor as Lukas said, "I'm sure you'll have your revenge. Besides, we've always made an effective team. With me charming the public and you being your terrifying self in the shadows, pulling the strings, the world will be ours."

Bucky looked at his friend, admiring his conviction. "You can have the world. That's not what I want."

"I know," Lukas replied quietly. "It never has been."

Bucky had just turned his head to look back out towards the night sky when he heard familiar footsteps behind him. They belonged to Steve, who looked incredibly relieved to have found Bucky. "Hey. Figured I'd find you out here."

Bucky nodded to him, and then Lukas sighed and said, "I'll leave you two alone. Hopefully you'll make it back to the party eventually. Try not to get lost in the moonlight, or each other's eyes."

Bucky rolled his eyes at Lukas, who then shared a terse nod with Steve. No matter what, those two never could seem to get along.

"Still perpetually single, Steve?" Lukas asked on his way out.

"None of your business," Steve replied with more amusement than irritation, walking towards Bucky. Lukas snickered and then left, and Steve sighed as he took his place on Bucky's right side. "He never gets less annoying."

"You never get less fun for him to annoy," Bucky pointed out. "Enjoying my party?"

"Well," Steve said, glancing out towards the grounds, "everybody seems to suddenly get _very_ quiet when I get anywhere close to them. You'd think I was a government operative or something."

Bucky glanced at him and half-chuckled. "You're just not going up to the right people."

Steve paused before casually mentioning, "I saw you and Romanoff awhile ago. Seemed pretty cozy."

Bucky shot Steve a somewhat weary look out of the corner of his eye. "It's the same as it's always been, Steve."

"Okay," Steve nodded. "I get it. But maybe it won't always be like that?"

Bucky shook his head. "It's not like that. It'll never be like that. Not with her."

"Maybe with someone else, then."

Bucky clenched his jaw and wished that Steve would just drop his unrealistic hopes for such things. "I had my chance for that."

"You might get another chance someday."

Bucky finally looked fully at Steve, his expression one of pained incredulity. "You really think that I could? Doing what I do?"

The way that Steve hesitated gave away how much he agreed that it would be no easy feat, but still, ever the optimist, he replied, "I don't think it's impossible."

Bucky did. He not only thought it, but he _knew_ it. Even years before, with only one kill under his belt and none of the experience that he had now, it had been enough to scare away the love of a good woman. He was too far gone now, too monstrous, his hands too blood-stained to ever touch a woman unless hers were equally so. That was one of the reasons why he and Natalia worked so well together, and it was also why he knew he'd never be loved by a woman like Vivian ever again.

"I can't think about that now. I've got too much to do. Too much to learn."

"Yeah," Steve said, taking a deep breath. "You're the boss now, huh? All of this," he gestured to the mansion, the grounds, the entire property, "is yours now." Bucky nodded, and Steve asked, "You nervous? It's a big job."

"I'm ready," Bucky told him, his resolve clear on his face. "I think..." He paused, gathering his words and looking out towards the distant city lights. "I think that for the first time, I feel like I have a real purpose. Like all of these things that I've done, everything I've been through, it's all led me here."

"And this is where you want to be?" Steve asked, no judgment in his tone, only curiosity.

"It's where I need to be," Bucky answered. "And I'm gonna find the people who killed my parents. I'm gonna find them and I'm gonna kill them."

Steve nodded. He wouldn't deny Bucky that, even if he believed in the rule of law or at least the ideal of it and what it was supposed to be. He found himself making a lot of exceptions for Bucky, and it was easy to do when he knew that money and corruption were why Bucky's parents' killers had never been apprehended. It was a screwed up world and even more screwed up city, and to win a fight you had to fight dirty.

Bucky, for his part, saw things very clearly, more clearly than he had in a long time. He had been lost for a time, compromised, too emotional and too weak. He wouldn't let that happen again. The world that laid in front of him - the gardens below, the people laughing and drinking in his home, and the skyline of the city beyond the treetops - it was a truly cruel, brutal place. And the life that he had lived had made him every bit as cruel and brutal.

But he was the best. His name struck fear in the hearts of his enemies. He wouldn't stop until he had put each one of them in the ground.

Steve's hand on his shoulder shook him from his thoughts. He looked up to find Steve giving him a tight but sincere smile. "You know I'm with you, right?"

"Still?" Bucky half-smiled.

Steve smiled back. "To the end of the line."

The small but perseverant piece of Bucky's heart that hadn't withered like the rest of it came to life for the shortest of moments. He had lost everything, his family, his first love, and pieces of himself that he would never recover, but he still had a brother who would follow him to the ends of the earth. He had friends who cared about him. And he had a purpose once again.

He _was_ winter, cold, strong, unforgiving, unyielding. He would never feel the heat of the sun again, and he accepted that. Warmth was meant for children, and summer was a luxury he couldn't afford. That would never change.

His time of suffering was over. Now, he resolved, it was time to pay it all back tenfold.


End file.
